CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I got offered $3,000 to look after some cats for a night" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 17, 2021

AUTHOR'S CHANNEL►https://www.youtube.com/c/MikeJesusLa...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by MikeJesus: 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►Blaz Porenta: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/zNX2SUGGESTED 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-

Once upon a time, in the mountainous land of Slovakia, there lived two orphans. Well, I'm 24. I think I qualify more as a guy without parents rather than a classic orphan. But if you rip some ash on Tomko's cheeks, he would definitely give off an Oliver twist vibe. Regardless of classification, our parents died in a fire last summer. Luckily, to use the term very loosely, while our parents burnt with all of the family's earthly possessions, Tomko was out in a summer camp learning about wood carving and reading maps. One moment, I was living the exciting life of a bartender in Prague,

a city where even budgeting for one person is a hassle, and the next, I was Tomko's legal guardian. I moved back to the town where our child home made the neighbourhood depressing, plunged my savings into a deposit and first month's rent, and started the exciting life of being a single dad. Tomko was 14, pushing on 15. I could handle four years of acting like an adult, right? Wrong.

The first two months broke me. Happiness and stability were never really prominent in my deck, but finding out about my parents burn the entire set of cards. I was meant to take care of Tomko, be the adult in his life, but really it was the other way around. I got us the apartment, collected the government-assisted checks, but Tomko did all the shopping, the cleaning, the cooking, and in the evenings he would sit by my bed and talk to me.

He'd make me feel better. He'd make it all bearable. Some days when the mental fog got particularly thick, thoughts came in that were particularly hard to let go of. This was no way for Tonko to live, just drop him off with one of the religious aunts, just give him a life where it doesn't have to take care of your catatonic ass and then drive off a cliff or something.

I do my best to push the thought out, but it would worm its way back within minutes. It was always in the back of my mind in one way or another, I guess. But I fully knew that there was no way I would act on it. The aunts would feed Tonko and a steady diet of Bibles, and I wasn't going to let that happen. I also wasn't going to make Tomko go to another funeral. Whenever the abandonment and suicidal tendencies started to pipe up,

I would do my best to use them as fuel. I would take those thoughts as something to disprove, something that I had to act against no matter how persistent they got. This worked about 10% of the time, but it was during one of these chance boosts of motivation that I decided to stroll through the Facebook odd job section. Need cat sitter for date night, cabin outside of the Volki Makais,

food provided, $3,000, six cats. I don't like cats. There's something else. about the way they look at you. A dog's expression you can read right away. The thing in their mind is usually food. A cat, however, is a complete mystery.

You look into their slitted eyes and you don't see relatable emotions. You see galaxies of mysterious animalistic energy. I don't like it. It makes me uncomfortable. I immediately commented my name, offering up my services as a cat sitter. Three grand was three grand.

that was a couple months worth of rent there was new clothes for both of us that was money that could get me on my feet I made my way over to the kitchen to share the good news Tom Goh seemed genuinely happy to see me out of the bedroom before noon he had some news of his own with excited cracks of puberty in his voice

he announced that his TikTok audience was growing steadily enough that he could bring in some money being an influencer we celebrated each other's surefire paths to cash and then I went back to the computer to check on the progress of my cat sitting application. This post has been removed for breaking community guidelines. I refreshed the page a dozen times,

hoping that something was simply wrong with the internet, but the text read loud and clear. A familiar shiver travelled through my chest. You're a moron. Obviously there was a fake job offer. Go drop off Tomko with the aunt and then ride your car into the burning inferno. My eyes welled up

I refreshed the page again The text didn't change I wept at my computer desk like an idiot I couldn't take it anymore I didn't want to be the butt of some twisted cosmic joke I wanted to be a normal person Whose head is filled up with normal things And then as tears cover the screen

My phone lit up A Facebook messenger call Unknown user Hello I picked up the phone. On the other side, I could hear a voice straight and static. It was saying something, but I could barely hear it. The specter of an old person with a smartphone.

You have to bring it closer to your ear, I said, getting a faint memory of phone calls with my dad. Is this better? I confused old lady, inquired, way too loud. Yeah, I can hear you now, I replied. Are you the peasant who offered to look after my cats? She punctuated the word with cheeriness, as if she was trying to assure me that she meant no disrespect. She was simply pointing out my status in life. I rolled with it.

My internal monologue called me considerably worse things on a regular basis. Yes, that's me. I'll have to comment on your post. Is the job still available? I asked, wiping the mixture of snuff and tears from my face and putting on the cheeriest tone I could. Well, that depends, peasant. Do you like cats? Boy, do I?

I exclaimed. Cats are by far my favorite animal. I used to cats it for my friends all the time. I was sitting on my desk wearing a dirty hoodie, an old underwear. But over the phone, I must have sounded like I was wearing a fancy turtleneck and slacks, or whatever people who cats it wear. This is good. I'm convinced.

My home is at the edge of DeVocke-Machais. It is the cottage with the chicken legs. The chicken legs? Ah, you will understand. when you see it, Peasant. You will understand. So, can I expect you to look after my cats while I go see my gentleman caller? A dozen questions floated through my head. I asked the most important one. It's $3,000 for the evening. That is enough. Yes, peasant. I pay high price because I expect a job well done. Okay, I said, baffled by my good fortune. You chose the right man for the job. I love cats.

quickly added, just in case she was playing on changing a mind. Very good and peasant. Do come to my home a hungry. I have cooked porridge and I do not want it to go to waste. She hung up, or she thought she hung up. All I could hear from the other side of the phone was strange rustling. I got violent flashbacks to my father's handling of his cell phone. I hung up. The Tatras are a beautifully terrifying mountain range. They're pretty enough to be put on postcards, shirts, and whatever other tracks guys the tourists will eat up. But if you stare at those snow peak crowns for long enough, you start to feel small. Those tearing giants will proudly remind you just how tiny you are in the grand scheme of things, how they have stood there before you and how they will stand there after you.

And how, if you stood anywhere near the peak without proper equipment, you'd be dead by sundown. It doesn't help. that the roads that surround the mountains are on freakishly steep hills, the kind of place where a millisecond of micro-sleep will send you tumbling down into a fiery death. You're riding a horrible tight wire made a road with an ever-present reminder of your insignificance.

It's difficult not to get dizzy. Whenever I was behind the wheel on those roads, even before the fire, there was always an ugly shiver in my lungs. Just drive off, just roll on down, let it all burn. yet, as I drove there, those thoughts were nowhere to be found. The only thing that was keeping me company was the rumble of the engine

and the bits of static-filled fork from the radio. Is something wrong, I audibly mumbled, unaccustomed to driving without self-destructive thoughts. We'll see, my longs answered. It was a 45-minute drive, as the trees grew thicker and the hills grew steeper and the other car slowly disappeared. As I drove, my phone started to maniacally switch between welcoming me to Poland and then welcoming me to Slovakia.

It didn't shut up until we were out of cell phone tower reception. It's not like I needed GPS. There was only one road and it led straight there. I could pick out the chicken legs as soon as I saw the cottage. The house was indistinguishable from the hundreds of humble wooden homes that littered the Slovakian countryside with one exception. It stood a metre or two off the ground With the support of logs that looked undeniably like chicken legs The cottage was right at the edge of a particularly steep hill

So parking rustle my nerves a bit But soon enough I was knocking on the front door Ah yes, the peasant Come inside, come inside But be quick, do not leave the door open for too long The cats might get ideas It was a small cat flap embedded in the bottom of the door If a cat truly decided to leave the house, it should have been able to do so.

But I didn't let my mind grab a hold of the absurdities. I kept focus on the money and my faux love of cats. The eyebrows were the first thing that popped out at me. She was an old lady through and through, stringy wisps of white hair, skin like a deflated balloon, but her eyebrows were painted a dark, disturbing red. Welcome, peasant, welcome. Thank you for coming on such short notice. She clasped my hand in a handshake that felt like sandpaper.

Her nails, much like her eyebrows, were painted an obnoxious shade of red. The eyebrows was so distracting that it took me a good minute before I realized she had a glass eye. I assured her of my love of cats and stared at one good eye, trying not to be weird. She didn't seem particularly concerned with my qualifications for cat sitting. Instead, she was obviously giddy about her evening plans. How do I look? Do I look enjoyable? She batted those horrible crimson-faced wings at me. I tried to figure out how to answer that horribly loaded question, but I just ended up nodding.

Well, that is because I had my eyebrows done. Tonight is a special night. The man I'm meeting tonight. Oh, ho, ho, I would not be needing the company of the cats anymore. She laughed a horrible, creaking laugh, revealing the few teeth she had left. A part of me was happy that people in their twilight years can still have a love life. But a much bigger part of me, the part of me that likes to sleep at night knew that if I pressed the subject further, I would have horrible images seared into my brain until the end of time.

I did not press the subjects further. Instead, I asked to see the cats. They... They... were fat. So horribly fat, all five of them. They rolled around on the floor, looking like hairy melons with toothpicks for limbs. She was a crazy cat lady, all right.

They have been fed, so do not dare give them any more food. These creatures are obedient. If you leave them be, it was simply sleep. She pointed to a group of black and grey cats that lay in some sort of insulin-infused days by the bed. It's this one you have to look out for. The old lady said, as she fished a striped orange cat. from under the table. The cat looked like a live-action version of Garfield,

if Garfield's obesity had been less endearing and more troubling. There was something else other than hatred for Monday in those eyes. That cat was pleading with me. I promised myself I would call animal control as soon as I was in cell phone range. Being someone who tends the break promises, I knew if she offered return work, the authorities wouldn't be involved. They are strange creatures, sluggish, moody, but they keep me company. She said, with a sort of whistleness in a voice, you only hear from old people.

But maybe, tonight is the night. Tonight is the night that I will fall in love. She batted those horrible monstrosities on a forehead and walked me over to the kitchen. The porridge she had in the pot smelled heavenly. I ate before I got in the car. scared that whatever food she had in a home would have been cooked under the influence of senality but looking at that porridge made me hungry

all over again remember peasant she said closing the pot do not offend my cooking when I come home I want none of this porridge left no one is allowed to leave my home without being fattened up and do not be an animal before you eat the porridge light of fire there is wood in the basket and newspaper beneath the stove

And the money? I heard myself say. Ah yes, the money. She fished out 1,500 in crisp notes and handed them to me. I'd never held that big of notes before. You'll get the rest tomorrow morning when I returned for my meeting. She winked. It looked as if a scarlet eagle was about to tear out her one good eye.

She called me a peasant a couple more times and bid her goodbyes and left the cottage. She hopped on the bicycle like a proper Slavic grandma and drove off down those horrible hill roads. I held the notes in my sweaty hands. They seemed real enough, and the lady seemed crazy enough to give me more. But somewhere in my chest, a voice rattled. Something is wrong. I looked at the catatonic cats in the bedroom. No, not that.

I turned my attention to the orange cat. He was clawing at the old newspaper beneath the stove. No, not that Something about the house is off That's when it hit me The interior of the cottage was just like any of the other village houses You could find in Slovakia The wooden furniture was chipped enough to suggest

It had been passed down a couple generations There were old photographs that dated back to World War II And the Soviets that let you see the Moro's faces of those generations But there was something missing something that was a staple in every room in a royal household huh no Jesus

I mumbled to myself weird right you met the one person in the countryside who doesn't use the crucivics as a decoration aid the walls that would usually hold the statuettes of a sad shirtless man instead had strange framed chalk drawings faint outlines of dark figures dance beneath the glowing moon with cats running between their feet

I clutched the money in my hands for comfort. The orange cat was at my feet with a bit of torn newspaper in its mouth. Out of the cat's jaw, a black and white picture of a chubby, cheery man dressed in hiking gear, stared back at me. Family pleas for information about missing mushroom enthusiast.

I took the newspaper out of the cat's mouth, crumpled it up and chucked it in the stove. I wasn't meant to be feeding the cats. I was meant to be feeding myself. With some extra newspaper and some logs, I got a fire started. Within minutes, the house filled with the intoxicating smell of delicious porridge. The Garfield-looking creature kept on staring at me, kept on meowing as if it wanted something from me. But I blocked it out.

Instead, I sat down on the couch and got lost in my thoughts. It's funny in a sad sort of way, but the same shiver in my chest that haunts me. with a reoccurring, intrusive thoughts is the same part of me that weaves memories so palpable that I disconnect from my body. Those memories are usually haunts, thoughts of arguments with exes, of disappointing social performances in middle school,

of angsty teenage outbursts. But, as I sat on that couch, the smell of oats soothing my mind, I was transported to a happier place. I was back in the forest picking blueberries with my mother, smoking cigarettes on the balcony, and talking about girls with my dad, helping Tomko film TikToks about drunken dinosaurs.

Memories of Tomko gave me pause. The kid was so kind, so happy, so responsible and dependable. I couldn't comprehend how the two of us were related. I found myself thinking that maybe I was adopted, that maybe there was a switch up at the hospital, and somewhere out there were two very unstable parents taking care of Tomko's little brother. Was I adopted?

I wanted to call up my mom and ask, perhaps in a joking way, but ask nonetheless. But then I remembered she was no longer alive. She burned to death. Burned. I snapped out with that thought. The fire had gone out. It was dark now. Night summer managed to stare at the wall for hours without moving an inch.

Pathetic. The sound of sliding ceramic could be heard from the stove. The orange cat was propped up against the bricks I rushed over to the stove and lifted the cat away but the damage was done There was no more porridge left Wow congratulations You did specifically what you were told not to do

You fed the cat The moonlight bounced off those classy eyes The cat wanted something for me But I was in no position to try decipher its needs I laid back down on the couch exhausted in my inability to get anything done right. The voice in my chest grew to a deafening volume. It demanded that I get in my car, drive back home to drop off the money, get back in my car and crash it.

I fought it with every inch of my soul. I kept on trying to push myself towards thinking about literally anything else. I don't know how long I struggled. Time dilated into one long neurotic monologue that seemed away at every ounce of energy I had in me. but eventually sleep came a hollow dreamless sleep cloaked in heart palpitations

I struggled to breathe it was a pressure on my lungs she was squatted over my chest but this was not the crazy cat lady I had met before the eyebrows had been wiped off and only faint traces of wispy hair remained and a glass eyes shined

with a dreadful bloody glow You didn't eat your porridge, peasant. There was no joiner voice this time. She pronounced the word peasant with the same intonation. Most people pronounce the word tapeworm. What? I ate the porridge. It was to let...

Liar! She screamed. Her red nails curled into fists. How dare you lie to me, peasant. How dare you disrespect me in my own home? I... She pointed towards the floor. her bony fingers shaking with rage.

Even in the dark, I could see the faint outlines of the orange cat. But it was no longer a cat. It had gained so much weight that it was simply an amorphous orange blob. You let him eat the porridge. You disobeyed me, peasant. The orange glob on the floor struggled under its own weight. How's your date? I tried changing the topic.

The hag scoffed, pressing down her knees on my chest. I do not need him. No, I do not need anyone else. I have my cat's peasant, and they keep me company. She smiled, the wet remnants of her teeth shining in the dark. And once I make you nice and plump with some porridge, you will join the cats. You will join the hikers and the mushroom pickers and the other desperate peasants who have stumbled into my cottage. You will keep me warm on the cold winter nights.

I would like to go home now, I said, as I am. tried to get her off my chest. Yet, as much as I would wiggle, as much as I would push, her knees simply dug deeper into me. You will stay, she said in an air of calm. From the corner of my eye,

I could see a sea of slitted green orbs. The other fat cats were watching us. The hag took a deep breath and screamed, You will stay. The glass ball in her eye socket burst forth with a flood of light.

My body, rose, that colour, that hateful hue of crimson. It did something to me. The same sensation that would keep me in bed until noon was back in my body. But when my depressive tendencies were a quiet jingle of suffering, the witch delivered a demanding symphony of hopelessness. I could feel myself slipping. I could feel myself breaking.

I had to act. I punched her in the jaw. I know this isn't something that I should be proud of. but the right hook I delivered to the eight-year-old woman sent her fragile body clattering to the floor. I dashed towards the door, car keys already in hand. The mountain air outside tasted a freedom. I could have been back in my car in a couple of strides. Yet, as I slammed the door behind me, a bony hand grabbed at my ankle through the cat flap.

The old hag had dug a scarlet nails into my skin. I could feel a warm trickle of blood travel down towards my socks. You are not going anywhere, you feel. the peasant. She yelled from behind the door. Her grip was strong enough to send me crashing to the ground. The wood of the porch sent a stinging pain through my skull. You will be my cat. You will keep me company, just like the others. You will be with me forever. Her voice grew dark. It echoed through the mountains while she screeched some sort of incantation. Suddenly, a fuzzy wave of weakness shot through my limbs. Something was wrong. Something was happening to me.

A feeling of weakness and fragility consumed me, an inhuman sensation travelled down my spine. She was pulling me in. My foot was covered in blood and halfway through the cat door. No one gets away from me, peasant. You will be with me until the day you die. You are my... A wave of meows rose from the other side of the door. Suddenly the hag's grip loosened.

Get away from me, you verbin. I will punish all of you for this. Get away from me. me. I freed my foot thanks to whatever struggle was happening on the other side of the door. I ran to my car, locked myself in, turn the ignition, and that's when I noticed it. My arms were covered in a steadily thickening layer of grey fur. My clothes were starting to clump up around me. That strange sensation of my spine was a tail. I was turning into a cat. Damn, I thought, this is not good.

I tried to keep my foot on the pedal, but my limbs kept on getting shorter. My vision became obstructed by my sweat-drained shirt. My clothes piled up around me. My thumbs were gone. My limbs receded into furry paws. There was no way that I could operate a vehicle. Just when it seemed like things couldn't get worse, like I had reached the ultimate rock bottom of the human experience,

the door to the cottage burst open. Come back here, you firmin. Blood was dripping down the hag's face. She was covered in scratches and filled with rage. Within seconds, she was slamming her bloody fists against the window. Her glass eye painted the inside of the car a bloody red. I hid by the pedals. I kept on spinning around in one place.

I don't know what came over me, but it felt as if keeping my body in motion will help me come up with a means of escape. Only one solution presented itself. A familiar voice spoke within me Drive off a cliff Let's end this once and for all She slammed the window with such fervour

That it became obvious that the glass would not hold For a couple of seconds I desperately searched for a different solution But in the blood-rate glow of a false eye I could only find one answer I pressed my body Against the gas pedal I woke up

curled up in the back seat of a totaled scoda fabia. The car bounced down the hill so many times that it looked more like a modern art installation rather than a vehicle. It was obviously ruined, but I was miraculously whole. One life down, eight to go. I crawled out from beneath the wreckage.

The sun was rising off behind the mountains. Birds were chirping in the forest. The place at the top of the hill where the cottage once stood was empty. I was dazed and beyond confused. A part of me just wanted to lie in the grass and think about the whole cursed affair, but something in the back of my head wouldn't let me. Go home. One paw in front of the other.

Tomko needs you. The journey back home took a good three days. Not only were my new limb significantly worse at travelling long distances, but I had to stop to satiate my newly found feline hunger. The first sparrow I killed was just because I was standing. starving. From that point onwards, I would slaughter any birds that got in my way. The whole journey filled me with a strange sort of purpose. I had to get to Tonko as soon as I could.

Yet, as the Tatra Mountains came into full view, I couldn't help but stop and take them in for a spell. Somehow, those majestic peaks looked a lot less intimidating when viewed from all fours. They were no longer terrifying reminders of how small I was. they were simply there a part of the same insane world in which I was living Tomko being Tonko took me in as a stray after less than

a day of following him I watched him set out an extra plate for the microwave pizza that he would eat every night I was with him when he called the police he took me along when he moved into her aunt's house Tomko's tictox has gotten quite a bit of traction as of late

he tells everyone that it's because he has an insanely talented cat but I know that it's because he's a naturally funny person. Either way, I think that the kid has a bright future laid out for him. As for me, well, the world is a lot less intimidating from where I stand. All I do all day is sleep, acting TikTok videos and keep Tonko company. I still hear the shiver in my chest, but it's considerably calmer now. I don't feel much of a need to argue with it either.

all it tends to say is lick yourself or get that door open or on truly boring days murder that bird this feline life ain't bad at all this post has been quite difficult to write down with my paws getting the accented letters down has been particularly difficult but I wanted to make sure to let people know if they see someone offering an absurd amount of money

for a simple cat sitting job report the post for being a scam Hope everyone is well There's some really crazy TikToks coming