CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I delivered a pizza to a neighborhood that doesn't want to be acknowledged" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 10, 2020

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by WeirdBryceGuy: 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...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-

From world-wide topmerken to entrepreneurs that net begin, million-verterower on Shopify, Vercoop online, in your winkel, on Instagram, TikTok, and more. Allers from out one platform. Beheer your products,

bestellings and betalings and lettings, very and easy-fouted. Shopify grew with you with you, every step of the way. Start today your gratis-proof-periodo on Shopify.

That is Shopify. combe. left before closing. If I had gone to the bathroom, done my business and stood in myself in the mirror for a few moments, the ticket would have gone to someone else. If I hadn't had such great luck with green lights at the time on my way back from the previous delivery, it would have gone to someone else. If any number of things happened during the day to prevent me from being at the counter available when that ticket came in, I would have been spared a night of black terror. But we were still open for another four minutes and I was able to take the delivery.

The order was for an extra large pizza, cooked, quote, solidly crisp, loaded with as much meat as the dough could handle. The box itself sagged, the weight almost cumbersome. As I walked out of the restaurant, bearing the burden, I heard the distant howling of dogs. I was sure they had smelled the meat-heavy package. I drove for nearly 45 minutes. The neighbourhood was technically beyond our service area, but there weren't any other pizza places closer to it. And the order had cost enough for my boss to give it the go ahead. Each additional meat topping was $2 and the customer had ordered enough to have gotten two or three other two topping pizzas, but they hadn't wanted that apparently. Instead, they ordered something that was more lasagna than pizza. They hadn't even

I even ordered excesses of cheese or sauce to complement the abundance of meat. It was an unusual order, but in the two years I worked the job, I had seen a few weirder things. Ordinarily, I described the area as simply rural, but as I pulled under the road that led into the smaller cluster of houses, I found myself applying other descriptive terms to my surroundings. It was less of a neighbourhood, and more of a cluster of houses whose owners seemed to have collectively agreed to distance themselves from a greater populace. Its initial appearance of ruralness was mostly owed to the lack of streetlights bordering the road. I was forced to drive slowly, my high beams on, without any supplemental illumination to assist me in the darkness of the night.

The argument against the ruralness, however, was its proximity to a nearby suburban area, about ten miles back. The houses also resembled those of a residential area, not a Not at all reminiscent of the ranches or humbly built structures you'd expect to find in the deep country, where streetlights and signage are few and far between. It was really as if a few houses had been plucked from suburbia and planted just outside of it. My GPS had no problem finding the place, which further supported the aforementioned theory. I wasn't knowledgeable of the area, but the ease with which the app had found it attested to its more modern categorization. I pulled up to the customer's house, which wasn't much different from the few others on the street. Literally just one street lined with four houses on each side.

The street went on internally beyond the houses, though, far in the distance, I could see what I believed to be a roadside lamppost. Looking around, as best as I could in the darkness, I saw nothing that gave the idea that more houses would soon be built. I saw no plots of land, no construction material or vehicles. The area had been claimed by eight houses and no one else. I left my car, hefting the pizza in my bag as I did so. I was about to head up the paved walkway to the house, which was so ordinarily suburban as to be unremarkable, when I heard a noise from behind me.

Turning, I saw a woman dashed into the front lawn of a house across the street, clothed in a white t-shirt, panties and nothing else. Something was splattered across the shirt, and from the way she ran, uncoordinated and panicked, I immediately guessed that it was blood. She didn't seem to notice me, was merely fleeing for her life from whomever had apparently attacked her within the house.

She might not have seen me, but she did see my car. I had left it running as I normally do, and before I could even pivot to call out to her, she was inside and speeding away, leaving me stranded. Across the street, the door of the house, which had been left open,

was suddenly and loudly shut. No one came out after the girl, and no one emerged from the other houses to investigate the disturbance. My phone had been inside the car, so I couldn't even use it to call my boss and explain what happened. Nor could I call the police and report what I'd seen.

Left with nothing to do but finished my job, I turned around and headed up the walkway to the customer's house. I hoped that they would be able to provide some insight into the bizarre occurrence, and maybe even let me use their phone. I knocked on the door and it opened a few moments later. There was no one there and the interior of the home was entirely black. I could see nothing beyond the threshold of the door. Nonetheless, I could still feel a presence within, as if someone had opened the door with some

unseen means, and was watching me, analysing me. Already shaken by the incident I just witnessed, I stuttered out an announcement. I actually called myself the pizza guy, even though my uniform and sagging box were obvious indications. There was no immediate response and the weight of the pie began to strain my arms. I cannot overexpress the sheer amount of meat pile atop that flimsy surface. I couldn't tell you the physics of it but the burden was quickly becoming insupportable and I didn't want to complain lodged against me for the customer's own carnivorous overindulgence. They hadn't even prepaid

online, so I called out the total and leaned against the door frame while keeping my body outside the house. Natural darkness had no problems coming off as ominous, hazardous even, and the darkness of the inside seemed more than naturally occurring. After a few moments without response and having grown unsettled by the circumstances, I announced that I was leaving with a peter in tow. I couldn't imagine walking home with the weight, neither in my arms nor my stomach, but I wasn't going to end the night having lost my car and my job.

I started to turn, but a whisper froze me in place. It had come from inside of the house, sounding as if it had issued from a mouth only a few inches away. But still, that seemingly depthless darkness showed nothing. I hadn't heard what the whisper had said, so I asked, What? Encranged, and how pathetic my voice sounded.

The payment is beneath the rock below you. Take it and proffer the meat. Looking down, I saw the rock. One of those hollow-bottoned decorative stones people often use to hide keys. Kneeling, while struggling with the burden of the meat, I lifted the rock and found several hundred-dollar bills. Uh, one is all I need

But even then I won't be able to make change for it I only have a few dollars on me It was the truth I couldn't remember The last time I had more than 15 bucks in cash Working or not Do you have anything smaller

Take it all For your troubles And your confidence Now Proffer the meat You'd think a voice whispering from the darkness would sound sinister, would send chills along your spine and raise hairs on your arms, but not this one.

It sounded hungry, but not in some malicious, ravenous way. It sounded old, but not as some ancient evil. It even sounded melancholic, but not as a voice of some necromantically raised thing. It was, in a way, soothing, like the voice of a grandparent luring you to sleep. I didn't feel threatened, even though the circumstances would have allowed for such a feeling without shame. Taking the money, I thanked him or her. Honestly, I couldn't tell. In every way I knew how.

I extended the pizza into the darkness, expecting a pair of trembling old hands to reach out and take it. I made sure my grip is firm in the event that the presumably elderly person mishandled and dropped it. But no hands came forth to take the pizza. Instead, it was seized by some invisible force, and my hands were gently pried away from the box. I then watched the pizza float away into the darkness, until it disappeared totally therein. Again, had the voice not been so calming, I probably would have jumped away screaming. I thanked the customer once more, and not wanting to overstay my welcome, turned away

from the porch. But then I remembered my predicament, and bigurgy-chie. be turned back. Would you happen to have a phone I could use? A girl from across the street stole my car and drove away. It'll take me forever to get back to town. I made my request while standing indirectly at the building, not wanting to insult the occupant

by staring directly into that preternatural darkness. The homeowner did not respond for a while, and though it did not visibly alter, something about the darkness gave the impression that the person within was considering my request. Ah, you mean the woman who's a guest of my dear neighbour. Well, we here in this neighbourhood do not meddle in one another's affairs. But I suppose, if you intend to merely travel home,

not infringe upon one's right to privacy, I could halt the progress of the vehicle, but you must promise me. that you will not aid the thief in bringing unnecessary attention to the owner of the home across the street if she is still in a position to request such assistance

simply take your vehicle and go will you promise me that I couldn't imagine how exactly the largely unseen entity could help me although I couldn't imagine how they could be speaking so clearly and sound so close

without being visible nor could I think of a way for a pizza to have been taken into the home. I wouldn't consider myself stupid either. I knew that something bad had happened across the street and that the customer wanted to ensure the privacy of the matter, no doubt to preserve their own general privacy. The woman had looked terribly distressed,

frightened enough to simply steal a car rather than go through the formality of asking for help. My conscience wouldn't let me abide by the customer's terms, but I agreed anyway, simply planning to offer her help once, if I came across her. Good. The whisperer was plainly satisfied. He believed I wholeheartedly agreed. I wasn't sure what to expect, but a hand emerging for the darkness was not something I anticipated.

Four gloved fingers came from the darkness, the fifth what would have been a thumb hung limply. that portion of the glove being empty. It was a black leather that still piled in comparison to the abject blackness of the space behind it. The four fingers were directed toward the street beyond and, after a moment of pause,

they closed in on the palm. Had there been a thumb, the hand would have formed into a fist. There were no effects or vibrations or emanations. Nothing was emitted. After lingering for a moment, the fingers curled,

and the hand was withdrawn from the open space, returned to the darkness. You will find your vehicle down the road, though it will take a bit of time to come across it. Once there, abide by the terms of our agreement, and make your way home. Despite the inexplicable demonstrations up to that point, I was sure that the customer hadn't actually done anything to the car

or the woman who had stolen it. I offered up a half-hearted thanks But before I could turn away The hand re-emerged This time carrying another bundle of hundreds Again For your confidence I accepted the money

And added it to the other clump Making my pocket bulge I figured I could at least use it to hitcheride home I thanked the occupant again Then left the property I took only a brief glance at the house across the street, the one from which the girl had escaped. There was nothing revealing about its exterior, but it did give off a vague, repellent atmosphere. I continued on, passing by those other houses on that weirdly isolated street.

Each seemed perfectly normal in the outside, and yet each had about it an atmosphere of gloom, ominousness, or some other forbidding yet unplaceable quality. My walk beyond that street lasted for an hour before I came across my car. I found it parked just off the road, the front nestled in a small ditch. The lights were on. It had come to a stop mid-drive.

I cautiously approached the driver's side, worried that I'd find the woman in a poor state. And boy did I. What I saw, in the driver's seat was horrific. In my years of late-night horror movie marathons, I hadn't seen anything so

gruesome, so mortally unsettling. After a considerable amount of time, the initial wave of horror passed, and I tried to piece together what had happened. The car wasn't damaged in any way that I could tell. The engine was still running,

peering beside a body, trying not to look at the horrible state of her. I saw that there was still plenty of gas in the tank. No lights indicated any issue with the car's operation. The vehicle had simply come to a stop. When I finally accepted the reality of the situation, I knew that I could not report the incident

or anything that happened that night to the police. I certainly couldn't tell my boss. As delicately as I could, I removed her body from the car and placed it in the ditch on the road. She had no identification, and due to the condition of her body, I can't provide a description of a face. As I settled into the car, I was reminded of the wad of cash in my pocket. It was preventing the door from closing. I removed it, took a single hundred from the clump, and wrapped the rest in a pair of earphones I had in my glove box, and left it on the road.

I couldn't bear have the money any longer. I didn't need payment to keep the secret. Seeing the state of the woman was encouragement enough. Somehow, through some supernatural force, those four gloved fingers had reached across an expanse of miles and crushed the woman's head. Call me a coward, or even a conspirator in a murder. But I won't risk the same thing happening to me

by babbling about it to the authorities. I have given no specifics as to the location of that street, around which the houses of the self-exiled have been erected, and I won't for anything. I drove away, leaving the body and the money behind. Once back at the restaurant, I attributed my prolonged absence to GPS troubles and gave the $100 bill to my boss.