CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I Like To Go On Late Night Runs. Last Night I Was Not Alone" Creepypasta

Episode Date: June 19, 2020

Who wants to go on a quick jog?CREEPYPASTA STORY►by charlie_meadows: 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►ivan stan: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/3PJOESUGGESTED 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-

Oh, my young, that I'm in three days. I'm all moor as I'm more on think. Oh, that to seeer that morning off must. I'm all mooh as I'm just on tomorrow. Oh, this is I'm all moor as I'm on thinking. Have you it mollick at home to come? Give you yourself then a boost with biocure maxhot liquid. Three up-puppendant plants.

Magnesium, Izer. An energy booster to immediately again to can clallet. Bio-cure max-shot liquid. Foodingsupplement, forcryg by the apotheker. Chronic insomnia has its advantages, believe it or not. Sure, I haven't slipped through the night since I was a teenager. Yes, I sometimes start to hallucinate after being awake for more than 72 hours. But on the plus side, when I go to the gym at 4 a.m., at least I don't have to worry about anyone watching me.

I've been doing this for a couple years now. Work out at the witching hour, my friends call it. It's oddly soothing to be productive at a time, when most people are in deep sleep. It distracts me from my inescapable feelings of exhaustion. And it's a good chance to clear my head. This year, I decided to try something new and add some jogging to my workout regimen.

I've always been afraid to run in public because I'm afraid of the general public staring and my scrawny chicken legs in shorts. But I figure that at 3 in the morning, I'm not liable to run into anyone in any position, to judge. Plus, I live in a sleepy little suburb, so I figure the streets are safe at all hours of the night. Safe, sleepy. That's what I thought at least. Until this week, until something happened on my Monday jog, at 3.30 in the morning, that I haven't been able to

stop thinking about. Did I mention that I haven't slept a wink since then, or that I've been too scared to leave the house? I start out pretty slow on my Monday runs, just going a mile or two around the nearby neighbourhoods. I've gotten into a pretty good routine at this point and can pretty much run the routes with my eyes closed. That can be a useful skill for an insomniac because I'm liable to fall into a stupor mid-run

and go several blocks without even realising it. My body has gotten pretty good at jumping into autopilot when my mind starts to fail it. On Monday, though, I was feeling very alert. That weekend, I had actually gotten several hours of quality sleep. I think I might have even dreamed. And I felt like I was looking around my neighbourhood with a newfound appreciation. The towering ancient coral trees with trunks like rhinoceros's skin.

The tidy little lawns in front of quiet houses. Their darkened windows protecting slumbering families inside. Most of all, I enjoyed the silence that followed through the empty streets, as if I was the only person in the whole world. I closed my eyes and breathed in the smell of flowers and dewy grass. I heard some crickets chirp. Total bliss. My peace was shattered as soon as I opened my eyes and saw a figure in the distance, several blocks ahead, walking towards me. Walking isn't quite the right word though

He had a funny way of moving Pushing one leg forward and then dragging the other behind him Stepping sideways then almost falling over himself Steadying himself against trees and telephone poles No two paces were the same Like each limb had a mind of its own Or like they were being controlled by two bickering puppeteers Each one trying to trip him in a different direction

Somehow, though, no matter how clumsily, he moved ahead. I shivered and slowed my pace a bit. It's not unheard of for me to encounter someone else on these late-night runs, but it is pretty rare. Occasionally, I see a grouchy, half-a-sleep dad in his pajamas, taking his dog out for a late-night pee. Once or twice, I've seen other runners with the same nocturnal habits. we give each other a nod of mutual recognition, then go our separate ways. For the most part though, I am alone on the street, and that's the way I like it. I was getting a bad feeling about this guy.

Something about the irregular, shambling way he was moving, as well as the alarming pace at which he was approaching me. It gave me the creeps. Instinctively, I crossed to the other side of the street. There was a side street one block down the street And I hung a right down it I felt bad if I offended the guy But my sleep deprived

Three in the morning brain wasn't ready to take any chances After a few minutes I was back in my groove Falling into the rhythm of a steady pace If that had been the end of it I'm sure I would have never even thought of the man again I probably would have laughed at myself in the morning for being so skittish.

But that wasn't the end. Far from it. Less than ten minutes later, I slowed to a walk in order to take a water break. I happened to glance behind me, and I nearly spat out a mouthful. There he was again. The same man,

walking in the same, frightening shamble, less than two blocks behind me. I swallowed my water too quickly, and almost choked on it. I started running again right away, this time at a faster, less responsible pace. My mind was a flurry

of rationalizations. It's not so weird to see the same guy twice, I insisted. It doesn't mean his following you. He probably just lives around here. It would be more suspicious to see a second person out at this hour. Stop being so paranoid.

So what if he walks with a limp? That's not his fault. You're being a dick. All of this sounded perfectly reasonable to me, but none of it was convincing. It wasn't just that he walked kind of funny, I couldn't explain it. Every step he took seemed like it was the first one he had ever taken. Every flail of his limbs looked like a different approximation of what human movement was supposed to be, but each one was wrong in a different, horrible way.

I ran even faster. For the first time since I started these nighttime jogs, I felt an acute sense of terror. Why the hell did I go out running at this god-forsaken hour? Nobody knew where I was. If anything happened to me, there was no one around to see. The thought of meeting some unspeakable fate on my own neighborhood streets turned my blood to ice. I broke into an all-out sprint, determined to head straight home and never leave my house again. I bolted head several blocks and rounded another corner

My heart was beating like a drum But I barely noticed I was running on pure adrenaline Again the rational corner of my mind fought for control Are you really going to let one late-night walker scare you off your own streets To which the other part of my brain The louder part screamed back a resounding reply Hell yes I am

I looked behind me once more and saw the figure shuffling around the corner now on the same block as me damn it I was running as fast as I ever had how is it possible he was gaining on me I found another well of energy somewhere deep inside my chest

I ignored the screams of pain from my lungs and sprinted three blocks in ten seconds I made one more right turn, remembering something I've been told in a safety class. If you think someone is following you, make three right turns. If they're still behind you, that means they're going in a circle. If that happens, run. As I made the last turn, I could hear him just a few yards behind me. Before he even rounded the corner, without even thinking, I dove behind a nearby hedge.

As I made the last turn, I could hear him just a few yards behind me. Before he could round the corner, without even thinking, I dove behind a nearby hedge. There I lay on a stranger's front lawn, my face buried in their hedges, my whole body covered in thorns. My heart was beating so loud that I saw the whole neighbourhood could hear it. I didn't have much of a plan beyond hiding, I have to admit. If the man was really following me, it wouldn't take him long to find me here. I've always wondered if I was a fight or flight kind of guy, I thought to myself. I guess now I know the answer.

Right at that moment, my pursuer finally caught up. From my angle on the ground, I couldn't see anything but a small patch of sidewalk directly in front of me. But the sound of uneven footsteps stopped as soon as they ran in the corner. Evidently, he was confused not to see me. He made a strange, nasally sound, something half-way between a snort and a congested wine. He had repeated, and he started to move again more slowly. Every few steps he paused, and I heard the sound again. With horror, I realised what the sound was.

He was trying to sniff me out. My skin crawled. He got closer. And then he was upon me, standing directly in front of me on the sidewalk, nothing but a row of hedges between us. I didn't dare breathe, though I was sure he could hear my heart beat loud and clear. There was no way out of this now. He slowly approached the hedges, once again making that hideous, flemy slurping noise.

I noticed that he was not wearing any shoes. All I could see were his feet and ankles, bare, pudgy, and totally hairless. They were like rolls of fat. I could barely make out his toes. He did not so much walk on them and slide, like someone pushing yellow across a countertop. I heard a rustling mere inches above my head. He was feeling the top of the hedges with his fingers now,

groping around for me. Could he not see me by the light of the lamp-post? Could he not hear my thunderous heartbeat or smell the sweat clamming my hands? Apparently not, as he felt his fingers all through the hedge, just barely missing my face. I got the sense that he still wasn't sure where I was.

I silently prayed that he would just move on. He let out a raspy, frustrated howl, a horrible sound like someone screaming and giggling at the same time. But it also seemed to indicate, mercifully, that he was giving up. He scraped his feet across the sidewalk and moved out of my line of sight. I let out an undetectable sigh of relief, not ready to celebrate until he was gone around the next block. What the hell do you think you're doing?

I gasped, falling backwards out to the head. is, rolling across the lawn, chanting in my head. Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, whoever you are, just shut the hell up right now. They didn't get my message. The voice came again, louder, more insistent. Hey, asshole, I'm talking to you.

Get the hell off my lawn. I've already called the cops. I groaned, then looked up at the front door of the house I had made my refuge. A tired, middle-aged woman with a hair and a ponytail. hair and a ponytail, wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe, was standing in the doorway, holding a shotgun. My mouth dried up. I've always hated guns.

Listen, lady, I said, as quietly as I could, putting my hands in the air. I can explain everything, but you just need to quiet your voice and get back in your house right now. I looked around frantically, hoping to God that the man had already left the neighbourhood. The lady laughed at me. She reached into a bathroom pocket, pulled out a couple shotgun shells, and loaded them into the gun like a pro. Jesus, I thought. So much for peaceful suburbia. I'm going to give you to the count of three, she said, as she aimed straight for my heart.

And if you're not halfway to Tuscaloosa, I'm going to make Swiss cheese out of you. I rose to my feet slowly, hands still in the air. Look, I told you, I can explain. one she said taking a few steps forward into the yard in the distance i heard a horrible sound the rapid approach of unsteady feet on pavement two she said holding the gun up to fire for the love of god listen to me i yelled at her we're in danger the footsteps were unmistakable now coming directly behind me but i didn't dare look away from the gun pointed right between my eyes. Three! The lady smiled, tightening a finger around the trigger.

And then she stopped. Her smile fell. Her mouth slowly opened into a perfect, shocked circle. Behind my head, I could feel something rushing towards me through the night. And I ducked, dove onto the grass, and somersaulted backwards. She was not so lucky. The man's trajectory took him straight through the air and on top of her, knocking her to the ground. The shotgun clattered to the ground, unfired and impotent.

She screamed. I stepped back, unable to take my eyes from what was happening. Did I say he jumped on top of her? I'm sorry, that's not quite right. Maybe into her works better. His pale, pink body. totally naked, totally smooth, like an unformed lump of fleshy clay, flowed around it like a pure liquid. He poured into her mouth, her eyes, through her paws.

She was only able to scream for a few seconds before he had filled her up completely. I shuddered to my bones, but still I could not move. It was not possible what I was seeing. It was not real. It couldn't be. It made no logical sense. And yet, there it was. This was the thing that had been following me.

It's every step, a nightmarish miracle of conscious meat. Its moist flesh rippling and stretching before my eyes. On the yard in front of me, as it absorbed and penetrated this unsuspecting trigger-happy suburbanite, it seemed to lose its shape entirely. It was pure, mindless mould. skin without bones, hunger without end. It was making quick work of the woman with a ponytail. She had been totally covered by the pale form now, reduced to a lump within some larger flesh,

and, as it did its work on her, it repeated with an encore of sounds I had heard it make earlier. A wet slurp, bones crunching, skin stretching, something dying, and something else being born. At last it finished. The wet, hideous noise died down to a low rumble, like a minor bout of indigestion. Idiot that I was, I was still there. It turned. Don't ask me how I could tell which part was the face, but it looked at me. In the midst of its swirling, bubbling body, eyes and ears and fingers began to float around,

finding their proper place. A long, fleshy appendage crept through the grass towards my feet like a snake, the end of it already beginning to resemble a human hand. That was it? I broke out on my stupor in a snap, feeling the night air on my face. I am not dying tonight,

I shouted inside my head. I turned around, slammed my feet against the pavement, and let my body take over the rest. I don't remember getting home. I don't remember outrunning the thing. I don't remember anything. I guess my survival instincts took over completely because the next thing I knew,

I was lying on my bed, rocking back and forth and crying softly. Trying as hard as I could to forget the ways her eyes had looked as they were taken from her, the way her arms and legs had wriggled and turned to mush before they were sloped up into the hole.

but no sleep came. That was four days ago. As I told you, I haven't slept or left the house since. I'm not taking any calls, not answering any emails. I don't care if my friends think I'm dead, or if I've been fired for my job. Once you enter fight or flight mode I found, all of that becomes quite trivial. I entered it on Monday morning and haven't come back since. I don't know what my long-term plan is.

I'm starting to starve in here, and I'm starting to see things too. Illucinations from malnourishment and lack of sleep. Monsters walking through my kitchen in the dead of night. Horrible, nightmarish visions. But ones that are familiar to me. I've been there before. I know that all those monsters are just in my head. It's the things outside my house that's the things outside my house

that scare me more. Because, although I haven't left since Monday, I have a big picture window in my bedroom that looks out over the neighbourhood. I stare out of it all night long, looking over the quiet, peaceful street that I've always been so proud to call my home. Now, everything looks different.

My neighbours, once so friendly, are hiding something beneath their empty smiles, I look at the neatly trimmed lawns, and all I can think are of the worms crawling underneath them. I look at the shuttered windows across the street and wonder, what's hiding inside of you? And, once a night, without fail, something else comes through the neighbourhood, stands on the edge of each lawn, sniffs the air, and reaches its obscene tendrils across the grass. It is no eyes, but I am. I know he can see me. No mouth, but I know it's hungry.

Its shape is a little different now, that is, when he's trying to look human. Instead of a single man walking alone at night. It is two. He has been joined by the woman with a ponytail, but they can't fool me. She is always holding his hand, the point where their fingers meet fuse together. One body becomes two, two becomes one. Their faces are blank, and I know that there are no eyes behind them, no bones or innards or cavities. It is flesh all the way through.

Yet still, I swear it is like they can see me. They stand at my lawn each night, impeded by something that would not let them cross my door, waiting patiently for me to join them for the two bodies to become three and for three to become one how long do you expect to keep this up they seem to ask me not unkindly

I wish I knew the answer to that question I wish I could say forever and tell them to get lost but I'm not so sure I've been so afraid for so long I can see them outside my window, standing closer than before, a little closer each night, and I can feel the weight of my eyelids pulling down, coaxing me patiently, into a long, deep sleep.