CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I found my dog waiting outside. The problem is, my dog was already inside." Creepypasta

Episode Date: February 10, 2025

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Frequent-Cat:   / i_found_my_dog_waiting_outside_the_problem...  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

I've always been a dog person. There's something about the way they're just there for you. No judgment, no strings attached. That makes everything a little easier to handle. After my divorce, when I moved into this house by myself, getting Max was the first thing I did. He's a mutt, mostly shepherd, maybe some retriever in there. And he's been my rock ever since.

It's just the two of us out here. The house is in a pretty quiet area, not completely remote, but far enough from the city that the nights feel still. Peaceful, usually. There's a small yard out back with a fence, and I've got cameras set up on the front and back porch, just for peace of mind, you know. I've heard stories of coyotes in the area, and while Max is a solid 70 pounds of muscle and fur, I don't take the chances. We've got our routine down. Early morning walks before I start work,

evenings watching TV while max doses at my feet, and late nights locking up the house and double checking the doors before heading to bed. He's the kind of dog who sticks close to your side, always alert but never anxious, loyal as hell. This house never felt lonely with him in it. Honestly, I'd even say it's been kind of comforting. There's something grounding about having a routine, a companion who's always there, and a quiet space to call your own.

But looking back, I realised that quietness. It wasn't just peaceful. It was something else. It happened on a Tuesday night, and I remember that because it was one of those nights where nothing feels unusual. I was sitting on the couch, half watching some mindless sitcom, and Max sprawled out by my feet, snoring softly. It was the kind of normal, uneventful evening that I'd come to rely on. Then I heard it. A faint scratching sound coming from the back door.

At first, I barely noticed it. I figured it was the wind or maybe some branches brushing against the house. I've heard stuff like that before. It's not exactly uncommon when you live in a place like this. But then it came again, louder this time. Scratch, scratch. I muted the TV and tilted my head, listening. Max didn't react, which showed him in my first clue that something was off.

Usually, his quick to bark at anything near the house, but he was completely out, snoring like nothing was happening. Still, the sound was hard to ignore now. Scratch, scratch, followed by what sounded like. Wimpering. I told myself it was probably a stray dog. We've had a few wonder through the neighbourhood before, and the fence usually keeps them out.

But something about it made my stomach twist. Finally, I got up to check. I peaked through the blinds. And that's when I saw him. Max. He was standing outside, pouring at the door, his ears pinned back, and his tail wagging nervously, like he was desperate to come in. My first thought was that I must have left the door open earlier, and somehow he got out. But that didn't make sense.

The door was locked. I knew it was locked. And besides, Max wasn't supposed to be outside, because Max was still inside. I turned back to the living room, and there he was, lying on the rug exactly where I'd left him. He wasn't asleep anymore, though. He lifted his head and was looking right at me, his ears twitching at the sound of the scratching. I froze, my mind racing, trying to process. what I was seeing.

I looked back at the door. The Max outside was still there, pouring and whining softly, his eyes wide and pleading, and the Max inside was staring at me, tilting his head like he was confused by my reaction. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. My first instinct was to open the door, to let the outside Max in and figure it out later. But as I reached for the lock, something stopped me. The way he moved.

It was subtle, but it was wrong. His pouring was mechanical, like it was imitating the motion rather than doing it naturally. And the whimpering? It sounded off, too even, like someone had recorded a dog whining and was playing it back on a loop. My chest tightened as I stepped back, my hand hovering over the lock. I didn't let him in. Instead, I locked the deadbolt and pulled the blind shut, trying to shake the feeling crawling up my spine.

I told myself it was astray that it just looked like Max, even though I couldn't explain how it was such a perfect copy. Max, the one inside, got up and patted over to me. Nozzling my hand like he always did when I was upset. I knelt down and hugged him, bearing my face in his fur, telling myself it was fine. It had to be fine, but that scratching didn't stop. And neither did, the whimpering. It started at the back door, just like before.

Scratch, scratch. Then it moved to the windows, first in the kitchen, then in the living room. Each time I thought it was over, I'd hear it again, faint but deliberate. I'd check the cameras, hoping for some kind of explanation. Nothing. No sign of the dog or anything near the house. It was like the sound wasn't even real, but I knew I was hearing it. I wasn't imagining it. Max, the one inside, wasn't acting like himself.

either. He stood by the back door, his ears pinned back, his body stiff. His growl was low and quiet, almost like he didn't want to make too much noise. I've never seen him like that before, not even when he heard coyotes in the distance. At one point, I tried to get him to follow me to the kitchen to check things out, but he wouldn't budge. He just stood there, rooted to the spot. His eyes locked on something I couldn't see. Come on, Max, I whispered, my voice trembling. But he didn't move. His fur was standing on end. His tail took so far between his legs, it looked like he wasn't there. Whatever he was sensing, it was enough to completely spook him. By now, I was starting to notice things about the outside dog. Soutle things, but he

enough to make my skin crawl. Its movements weren't quite right, too stiff, too calculated. The way it scratched at the door wasn't frantic like you'd expect from a dog that wanted to come inside. It was methodical. And the whimpering. I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't real. I tried to ignore it.

I locked all the doors, shut the blinds and left the lights on. but ignoring it didn't help. A couple of nights later, I woke up to find Max sitting in the hallway, staring at the front door. He wasn't barking or growling. He wasn't even moving. He was just sitting there, stiff as a statue, staring at the door like it might open at any second. Max, I whispered. But he didn't even turn his head.

His ears twitched, but that was it. I wanted to tell myself he was just being protective. Maybe he'd hurt something, and this was his way of keeping an eye on things. But deep down, I didn't believe that. There was something about the way he sat there, so tense, so quiet, that made my chest tighten, like he was waiting for something to come inside. I thought about checking the door just to prove to myself that nothing was there

but every time I got close my legs felt like lead I couldn't bring myself to look through the peephole or pull back the blinds I didn't want to see what was waiting I kept telling myself I was overreacting that this was all in my head but every time I looked at Max

his stiff body his wide, unblinking eyes. I knew I wasn't imagining it. Something was out there. And whatever it was, it wasn't leaving. That's when things went from unsettling to completely impossible. The scratching hadn't stopped, but now it wasn't just the back door or the windows. It was everywhere.

I'd hear it on the front porch, on the front porch, on the fenced-in patio where nothing should be able to get in. And once in my bedroom window. Let me say that again. My bedroom window. On the second floor. I don't know how it got up there. I don't even want to think about how it got up there.

But when I pulled back the curtain, there it was. The same dog. The one that looked just like Max, staring in at me. with those wide, pleading eyes. I slammed the curtain shut and didn't sleep that night. But the worse came a few nights later.

I was sitting in the living room, trying to drown out the scratching with the TV turned up louder than usual. Max, inside Max, was curled up under the coffee table, trembling. I've never seen him like that before. His whole body was shaking. his ears pinned back and no matter how much I called for him

he wouldn't come out then I heard it at first I thought it was just the wind but the longer I listened the clearer it got it was a voice it wasn't loud just faint enough that I couldn't quite make out the words at first

but as it grew louder my stomach dropped It wasn't speaking to me. It was calling Max's name. Max. The way it said his name made my skin crawl. It wasn't like a normal person calling for a dog. The tone was off, stretched out, like it was trying too hard to sound human.

Max, come here, Max. I froze. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to. to grab Max and hide in my room, but when I looked at him, he was still trembling under the table, refusing to move. The voice kept calling. Max, I couldn't take it anymore. My chest felt tight, and every nerve in my body was screaming at me to stay inside, to ignore it. But I had to know. I had to see.

I went to the back door and threw it open. There was nothing there. No dog, no voice, no sign of anything at all. Just the quiet, empty yard stretching out in the moonlight. I turned to go back inside, my heart's still pounding. But as I stepped through the doorway, the door slammed shut behind me with a force that shook the whole house. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I spun around trying to convince myself it was just the wind,

even though there hadn't been so much as a breeze all night. That's when I decided to check the cameras again. I needed proof, some kind of explanation. But what I found, I don't even know how to describe it. In the footage, I watched myself open the back. door. There was nothing there, just me standing alone in the doorway, looking out into the yard. But when I replayed the clip, something changed. In the second playback, the dog was there, the one that looked like Max. It was standing at the edge of the yard, staring directly at the

camera. Its eyes weren't pleading anymore. They were dark. I played the footage a third time hoping to catch something I'd missed. This time the dog wasn't at the edge of the yard anymore. It was closer. And his eyes, its eyes were looking right at me. I shut the laptop and locked every door and window in the house. I didn't know what was happening. I don't know what it was.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that it's not just watching me. It's waiting. I thought I was finally starting to get a handle on it. The scratching had stopped over a couple of nights and Max seemed to calm down a little. I even managed to sleep without the lights on for the first time in days. But that peace didn't last. It was late around 2 a.m. when I heard it again. But first, I thought he was coming from the back door, the same faint scratching and whimpering

I'd been hearing for weeks. I sat up in bed, trying to shake off the groggyness. But something was different this time. The sound wasn't coming from outside. It was inside the house. The whimpering echoed faintly, like it was moving through the walls, growing louder and closer with each second. My heart started racing as I reached for the lamp, fumbling to turn it on.

Max, I called out, my voice shaking. There was no response. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and grabbed the flashlight I'd started keeping on my nightstand. When I looked toward Max's bed, I froze. It was empty. His collar was a lot. lying on the floor, right in the middle of the bed where he should have been.

The whimpering grew louder, almost frantic now, like it was coming from multiple places at once. Then, cutting through it, I heard something else. A voice. Not faint or distant like before, but clear and deliberate. And this time, it wasn't calling for Max. It was calling for me. Hello? I stammered.

My voice barely above a whisper. The voice called my name again, dragging it out, each syllable dripping with something I can only describe as wrong. I don't know what possessed me to start searching the house, but I couldn't just sit there. I grabbed the flashlight and crept into the hallway, my pulse pounding in my ear. ears. Max, I called again, even though I knew he wouldn't answer. The whimpering echoed from the kitchen, then the living room, then the stairs, bouncing around like the house itself was alive.

I finally made my way to the living room, gripping the flashlight so hard my knuckles ached. That's when I saw them. Max. both of him. They were standing side by side in the middle of the room, perfectly still, staring at me. At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. I blinked, hoping one of them would disappear, but they didn't.

Two identical dogs, each one a perfect copy of the other. Max, I whispered, taking a shaky stare. stepped forward. Neither of them moved. I shine the flashlight on them, desperate to see something, anything that would tell me which one was real. But they were exactly the same, down to the fur on their paws and the tilt of their heads. Then one of them growled.

It wasn't a normal growl though. It was low and guitaral. than anything a dog should be able to make. The sound rumbled through the room, vibrating in my chest. Its eyes flickered, catching the light in a way that wasn't natural. They didn't glow. They shimmered, like something beneath the surface was trying to push through. I stumbled back, my breath catching in my throat.

The other Max, the real Max, I hoped, coward. His ears flat against his head, whimpering softly. Stay back, I choked out, pointing the flashlight at the growling one. It tilted its head, the growl fading into a sound that almost, almost sounded like a laugh. It was low and deep, almost vibrating through the room. I felt it in my bones. The sound didn't stop. It just kept building, growling louder and louder, like it was daring me to move.

I stepped back, trying to keep my distance. My legs felt like jelly, barely able to hold me up. Max, I whispered, but I wasn't even sure which one I was talking to. The growling Max took a step forward, its head tilting ever so slightly, almost like it was mocking me. The other Max, my Max, led out a soft, pitiful whimper. His whole body pressing into the floor like he was trying to disappear. I panicked. I ran to the nearest room, the guest bedroom, and slammed the door shut, throwing my weight against it. My hands fumbled for the lock, and when I finally clicked it into place, I grabbed a chair and wedged it under the knob.

It wasn't much, but it was all I had. Then, I just sat there. I don't know how long I stayed in that room, clutching the chair like it was a lifeline. My breath coming in shallow gasps. Hours maybe. The growling eventually stopped, but I couldn't bring myself to leave. Every time I thought about opening the door, I imagined what might be waiting on the other side. Eventually, exhaustion took over and I must have dozed off.

When I woke up, it was morning. The house was quiet. I waited a while longer listening for any sound, any sign of movement. When I finally worked up the courage to open the door, my legs felt like lead. The living room was empty. Max, both of them, were gone. At first, I tried to convince myself it was a nightmare, some kind of stress-induced hallucination. But the evidence was there. Clawmarks gouged into the walls and the furniture, deep enough to leave splinters on the floor. I didn't know what to think.

Part of me wanted to burn the house down and never look back. But I couldn't bring myself to leave. It was my home. Max had been my home. And now he was gone. For a few days, I tried to act like things are normal, like I could just move on. But the house was too quiet, too empty. The silence weighed on me in a way it hadn't before, so I did what any dog person would do. I adopted another dog. I couldn't live without the companionship, especially after what happened. Being alone was not an option for me. Her name's Bella, a sweet little lab mix who wouldn't hurt her to fly.

She's been with me for a few weeks now, and for the most part, things have been fine. She sleeps in Max's old bed, and I like to think he'd have liked her. but last night something happened I was sitting on the couch

Bella curled up at my feet when I heard it a faint scratching sound it was coming from the back door I froze my whole body going cold Bella's ears perked up

and she let out a low confused wine staring at the door like she was waiting for something. I haven't checked it yet. I don't think I can, but I know one thing for sure. It's not done with me.