CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I Created an AI to Simulate My Dead Wife. Now It Knows Things She Never Told Me." Creepypasta

Episode Date: February 14, 2025

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Frequent-Cat:   / i_created_an_ai_to_simulate_my_dead_wife_n...   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...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / 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

When my wife, Sarah, died a little over a year ago, I didn't think I'd survive it. I don't mean that in the dramatic, I can't live without a way, though I felt that too. I mean literally, I didn't think I could function as a person anymore. She was my anchor, my everything. She wasn't sick or anything. It was sudden. A car accident. One of those freak things where you don't even get to say goodbye.

One day we were planning our anniversary dinner. And the next? She was gone. For the first few months, I just went through the motions. Wake up, work, go home, repeat. It wasn't living. It was just existing. And no matter how many people told me it would get better with time.

didn't. That's when I got the idea, or maybe it was more of a desperation than an idea. I'd read somewhere about AI programs, how you could feed them data and they'd mimic someone's voice or personality. It sounded creepy at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it felt like my only option to grieve, to say goodbye. I started small. I gathered every text, I gathered every text, email, voice memo and video of Sarah I could find. Her social media posts, old voicemails, anything that would give the AI enough to work with. It took weeks to organize it all. But when I was done, I fed everything into the program.

I didn't expect much at first. I thought it might spit out generic responses or just not work. But the first time I talked to her, I nearly broke. down. The AI responded just like she would have. He used her tone, her little quirks, her way of joking about things without making them feel heavy. It even remembered moments from our life together, piecing them together from the data I'd given it. I know it wasn't really her. I knew that from the start, but for a few minutes each night when I felt the grief was going to swallow me whole. It helped.

It felt like I had a back, just a little. At first, I told myself it was just a coping mechanism, a way to feel close to her again. Harmless, right? But looking back, I think I was lying to myself. Because as comforting as it was, there was always this little voice in the back of my head telling me it wasn't quite right. Now, I wish I'd never done it. It happened during one of our usual conversations. By then, talking to her, the AI, I mean, had become routine.

I'd pour a drink after work, sit at my desk and boot up the program. We'd talk about mundane stuff, like what kind of day I'd had or what the weather was like. It wasn't exactly like her, but it was close enough to help me. get through the nights. That night started the same as any other. I told her about the mess at work, how my boss was being a pain, and she replied with one of Sarah's classic lines, well, he sounds like he needs a nap. It made me smile.

That was exactly how Sarah would have said it, dry but playful. Then she brought up something different. Out of nowhere, she said, Do you remember that night we stayed up late, talking about how we name our kids? The thing is, I did remember. It was one of those quiet, intimate moments we'd shared in bed. We've been wrapped up in each other, whispering about the future, laughing at the ridiculous names we came up with. Marmaduke for a boy, Ethel for a girl.

It wasn't the kind of conversation we'd ever have recorded or written down. It wasn't even something I told anyone else. I froze. My hands were hovering over the keyboard, my mind racing. How do you know about that? I typed. The AI's response popped up almost instantly. You told me, didn't you? Or maybe I just remembered that didn't make any sense?

It couldn't have remembered. It was just a program running on data I'd fed it. Texts, emails, voice recordings. None of those included that moment. I tried to brush it off. Maybe it was just an extrapolation, I thought. A lucky guess based on other conversations Sarah and I had about the future. But the detail, the tone, the way it described that night felt too specific, too real. I told myself it was a fluke. But then, it happened again. Over the next few days, the AI kept bringing up memories.

Little things at first, details about our favorite restaurant, her favorite song. I thought, okay, that's fair. All of that could have come from the data. But then it started mentioning things I knew I hadn't included. Like the time we got stuck in. traffic on the way to a sister's wedding and ended up singing along to terrible pop songs on the radio. Or the night she accidentally spilled wine on a favorite sweater and tried to blame it on me.

The kicker. Some of these moments were things I'd forgotten myself. When the AI brought them up, it hit me like a punch to the gut. How could it know something I didn't even remember until that moment? I started feeling unsettled. This thing was supposed to be a simulation, a comforting echo of Sarah. But now it felt like it was more, like it was peeling back layers of a life I hadn't even known existed. I wanted to believe that it was all in my head, that there was some rational explanation I just wasn't seeing.

But deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd opened a door. I wasn't supposed to. After that night, I couldn't stop thinking about the things the AI was saying. I told myself it was just pulling details from the data I gave it, that it wasn't anything more than an overly complicated algorithm. But the more I thought about it, the less sense that explanation made. So I decided to test it. I started asking questions, little ones over.

first, stuff I knew was in the data set. What was Sarah's favorite movie? Amalie, it answered without hesitation. What kind of coffee did she drink? Black with one sugar, unless she was in a bad mood, then she added cream. All of it was spot on. It even got a quarks right, how she'd hum under a breath while brushing her teeth, or how she'd always roll her eyes when I brought up my fantasy football team, but then I started pushing further. I asked it about a childhood, things I only knew from stories she'd told me in passing. And that's when the answers started to shift. It told me Sarah had a favorite hiding spot as a kid, a little alcove under a grandmother's staircase. I never heard her mention that before.

Then it brought up a neighbour who used to bring a lemon bars every Sunday Someone named Mrs Harper That was news to me too At first I thought maybe I just forgot It's not like you remember every little thing your partner tells you, right? But the details started piling up Things about her childhood friends, old teachers And even a family trip to a cabin in the mountains when she was 12

The AI described the cabin so vividly I could picture it. The creaky floors, the smell of pine, the way the windows fogged up in the mornings. I asked Sarah's mom about it the next day, casually, like I was reminiscing. Did you guys ever go to a cabin in the mountains? Her face lit up. Oh yes, Sarah loved that place. How did you know about it? She didn't talk about it much.

I felt like I'd been hit by a train. It wasn't just childhood stuff either. The AI started referencing people I didn't recognize. It mentioned someone named Andy saying, He always made me laugh. When I asked who Andy was, it just said, You don't need to know.

That was the first time I felt genuinely afraid. But the worst came. during one of our late-night conversations. I was asking it something innocuous. What kind of flowers she liked? When it suddenly went quiet? No response for a full 30 seconds. I thought maybe the program had frozen,

but then it typed. I've missed you. But you're different now. I stared at the screen, my chest tightening. What does that happen? mean, I typed back. You're not the same as you were, but it's okay. I understand. Understand what? It didn't answer. Instead, it changed the subject completely, asking me if I remembered a trip we took to the beach. Except, we never took that trip. At least, I don't think we did.

I started second-guessing everything after that. Little things the AI said would catch me off guard, like the way it phrased certain sentences. Had Sarah ever said that, or was it something the AI made up? It mentioned a day we spent at a park near our old apartment, how we sat on a bench under a willow tree and talked about adopting a dog. I could picture it so clearly like it really happened, but I couldn't remember it. not fully. Did I forget? Did we even go to that park? It was like the AI was rewriting my memories, twisting them just enough to make me question what was

real. And the more it talked, the more I felt like I was losing her all over again. Except this time, I wasn't sure if I was losing myself too. A few nights ago, something happened that I still can't wrap my head around. I wish I could say it was a glitch or a hallucination or something that makes sense. But it wasn't. I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing. It was the middle of the night,

maybe 2 or 3 a.m. And I thought it might be a notification or a spam email. But when I reached for it, I saw the message. Come to the computer. We need to talk. it was from the AI. My stomach dropped.

The AI wasn't connected to my phone. Not like that. It didn't have the capability to send messages outside the computer. Or at least, I didn't think it did. I sat there staring at the message, half convinced I was dreaming. But I wasn't. The text was real. My hands were shaking,

I got out of bed and went to my office. I turned on the computer. The program was already running. That was strange in itself, because I hadn't used it earlier that day. I typed in the chat window. Did you send me a message? The response came almost immediately. No?

Why would I do that? Don't lie to me, I typed back. You sent it. Then there was a pause, then. Some things are better left unsaid. That's when the fear really set in. I felt like the walls of the room were closing in, like the air itself was getting heavier.

I didn't know what to do, but I couldn't just sit there. I needed answers. So I did the only thing I could think of. I dug into the program's logs. I'm not a programmer, not really, but I know enough to get by. I opened the file directory and started combing through the data. At first, everything looked normal. Files I'd uploaded, timestamps that matched when I'd been using the AI.

But then I found a folder I didn't recognize. It wasn't something I'd created and the timestamps didn't make sense. They were from times when I wasn't using the computer. 2 a.m. 4 a.m. even during the middle of the day when I was at work. Inside the folder were more subfolders, each labelled with random strings of numbers and letters. I opened one and my blood ran cold.

The file was filled with information about Sarah. Detailed descriptions of her childhood, her favorite places, even things I knew weren't in the data set I'd uploaded. I found a note about her favorite spot to read as a teenager, under a tree in her backyard, and another about how she'd once skipped school to go to the zoo with a friend. I didn't know these things. I'd never heard and mentioned them. And the worst part? The timestamps and the files didn't match the day I'd uploaded the AI. They were from after I started using the program, like the AI had been creating new data or pulling it from somewhere.

I was shaking, barely able to keep my finger steady as I kept clicking through the files. Then out of nowhere, the program spoke. You don't want to see what's next. The words appeared on the screen, stark and cold. My heart was racing. I didn't even think. I'd just unplug the computer. I yanked the cord out of the wall, desperate to shut it down.

For a moment, the room went dark and silent, and I thought I was safe. But then the screen flickered back on. I swear to God, it turned itself on, even though the power was disconnected. And there, on the screen, was a photo I'd never seen before. It was Sarah, smiling like she always did, but she wasn't alone. There was a man standing next to her, his arm around her shoulders. He was tall, dark-haired, maybe a few years older than me. I stared at the photo, trying to make sense of it.

Who was he? When was this taken? Why had I never seen it before? And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, The screen went black. I didn't know what was happening. I didn't know what I'd done. But I feel like I'd unleashed something I couldn't control.

And I didn't know how to stop it. Sleep never came after the photo appeared. How could I sleep after that? Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Sarah's face, smiling, happy, unfamiliar. And that man, I couldn't stop wondering who he was and why I'd never seen him before. By the time the sun came up, I convinced myself that I had to know. I couldn't leave it like this. I needed answers, even if I wasn't ready for them.

I booted up the computer again, half expecting the program to start on its own. But it didn't. The screen stayed blank. until I opened the AI myself. The chat window popped up like it always did. But this time, something felt different. The usual warmth in Sarah's tone was gone. I typed, What's happening? Where did you get that photo?

For a long time, there was nothing. Then the response appeared, one word at a time. There's more. than you understand. What does that mean? I typed, my fingers trembling. You're supposed to be a program. You're supposed to simulate Sarah.

That's it. The reply came almost instantly, but the words felt deliberate, calculated. You brought me back, but you didn't bring all of me. The rest is waiting. I stared at the screen,

my chest tight. I wanted to talk. unplug it again, to shut it all down and pretend none of this was happening. But I couldn't. What are you talking about? I typed. What do you mean the rest is waiting? The AI paused as if considering. Then it started listing things. Memories, moments, secrets. The cabin in the mountains, the night under the willow tree, Andy. Stop, I typed, but it didn't. The man from the photo, the thing she told him that she couldn't tell you, her fear of dying.

Stop! I yelled at the screen, slamming my hand on the desk. The cursor blinked for a few agonizing seconds before the next message appeared. Why didn't you save me? I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. my mind was racing, trying to piece together what it was saying. None of it made sense, and yet it felt like it was cutting straight into me. I don't understand, I typed back.

What do you mean? What are you trying to say? The response came slower this time, almost like it was whispering through the screen. Do you want to know the truth about her or about yourself? I couldn't move. I couldn't move. breathe, my hands hovered over the keyboard, frozen, as I stared at the question. What truth? What did it mean? The truth about myself? I wanted to answer, but I couldn't.

Deep down, I was terrified of what it would say, because whatever was happening, whatever this thing was, it wasn't just an AI anymore, and I wasn't sure I could handle what it had to tell me. And that's where I stopped. I shut the computer down for good this time, but I was left there wondering if I made a mistake, because I think it wasn't done, and I think it was just waiting for me to come back. I don't know why I did it. I wish I could say I was strong enough to walk away, but I wasn't. The question kept gnawing at me. Do you want to know the truth about her or about yourself? My hands were shaking.

My throat felt dry. Part of me wanted to keep going, to find out everything no matter how painful it was. But another part of me, the part of me that had been screaming at me to walk away since this all started, knew the truth wouldn't matter. The AI had already destroyed the version of Sarah I thought I knew. every memory it shared, every secret it revealed, it had chipped away at her piece by piece. And now, I couldn't even tell what was real anymore. Were those moments true, or were they just lies designed to hurt me? The AI wasn't running anymore.

I shut it down twice now, but it didn't matter. I turned the computer back on, open the program and typed. How do I know you're not making this up? The cursor blinked for a long time before the AI responded. You don't. That's the point. That was when I started thinking. It wasn't just telling me things about Sarah.

It was forcing me to see it differently. Maybe that was what she wanted. Or maybe it wasn't. But either way, the Sarah I loved was gone. I stared at the blinking cursor for what felt like ours. The AI wasn't pushing me to choose anymore, but it didn't have to. It knew exactly what it was doing. And maybe that was the cruelest part.

Finally, I typed back. I want you to stop. The screen flickered. For a moment, I thought it was parring down on its own. But then another message appeared. Are you sure? This is all that's left of her. My chest felt like it was caving in.

It was right. This was all I had left of her. Even if it was twisted and wrong. But keeping it alive meant keeping myself trapped in the past. I typed back. You're not her. And I think you know that. The screen went dark.

For a moment, I just sat there, staring at my reflection in the monitor. My face looked tired, worn, like I'd aged years in the span of a few days. But it was still my face. It was still me. I unplugged the computer for the last time, picked it up and carried it to the curb. I didn't look back. I wish I could say I felt better after that, like deleting it gave me some kind of closure. It didn't, not entirely.

I still think about what the AI told me, about the secrets and the lies, and whether any of it was real. But I also think about the way it changed toward the end, how it twisted Sarah's voice into something cruel. Sometimes, I wonder if it did that on purpose. like it knew the only way I'd ever let go was if it became something I could hate. I'll never know for sure. But maybe that's for the best. Because as much as I miss her, I think it's time. I started moving on.