CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I Live In The Country. My Neighbour's Dog Won't Stop Barking" Creepypasta

Episode Date: April 24, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by cjphillips612: 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►Jakub Bazyluk: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Ya...​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/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-

This weekend I'm in a while I'm new as I'm not when I'm not on think Oh, that dossier that morning off must be all moot I'm all mooh

as I'm not too Oh, I'm a moose I'm a moose I'm on moose like I'm on think Have you it's more to come to come

Give you Then a boost With BioCure Macshot Liquid Three opepend Plants Magnesium Iiser

Aisor An energy booster To make sure To get in Can Machchchchchit Fooding Supplement Forcmere-Machxhotliquit. Okay, what the heck is that shrieking sound?

My girlfriend was only mildly frustrated from the background noise. I had looked at her with concern, as there was not much that I could do to stop the frightful wailing coming from the backyard. Sorry, my love, I tumbled her through the phone, glancing up to my bedroom window across the room. It's the neighbour's dog. There must be a rabbit or something in the yard. I'm sure it's nothing.

Well, it's kind of annoying to me. All I can hear is that static shrieking through the room. the phone, it's driving me crazy. Now, forgive me if I make it sound like my girlfriend in any way dislikes dogs. That is not the case. She absolutely adores all animals, especially dogs. My neighbour's pet was simply growling in such a fairer way that it could hardly be called to dogs barking. It sounded more akin to a wild animal fighting tooth and nails to save its life. The first night that I heard the howling outside my bedroom window, I had originally assumed that a wild-kind coyote had gotten a hold of the neighbour's pet. However, the sound did not cease like they should

have. Hours had passed further into the night, and the dog continued to wail. This continued every night for nearly a week. The timing in which the animal would begin its horrendous screaming was not consistent, nor was the duration in which said screaming had lasted. I had contemplated speaking to the neighbour's son about their pet dog, but due to my poor social girls, I decided against it. Maybe I'll talk to my dad or one of the neighbours about it tomorrow morning and tried to get some answers, I thought out loud. You should, because I don't want to hear it every night we call, she stated, with such a tone in a voice,

that I got the impression the whole situation was my fault. Whether or not she intended to make me feel that way, she would never tell me. However, it was likely she was not impressed with me ignoring the barking as a whole, rather than simply speaking to the neighbour about the animal's noise. The next morning, over an unhealthy breakfast of pancakes drowned in maple syrup, I had asked my father if he had heard the barking through the recent evenings. He confirmed that he had indeed heard the noise and that he had planned on asking the neighbours to keep their pets inside during the night.

It was clear to me that he had not slept as well as he had in the nights before. My father's eyes were sunken slightly and barely visible dark circles had formed. around them. His face seemed to be longer and more susceptible to frowning than his normal cheery visage, through which he was likely due to the fact that his eyes were so tired looking. That damned dog, he muttered before finishing his coffee and placing his mug into the sink. My father worked long days as a factory manager. He often had spent his spare time with the building itself to ensure the success of his employees, and more importantly, the future of his job. He had left that morning around eight and likely wouldn't be home until eight or shortly after

that night. His sleep schedule through the night where the dog screeching was more apparent was nearly non-existent. He had tasked me with the house chores through the days whilst he was away. One such chore was to visit the neighbour, and yes, you guessed it, politely asked them to keep their pets inside, or at the very least, quiet through the night, as he was unsure when he would be able to ask in person. I bid him farewell on his day, and finished all the other household chores I had been tasked with for the day before noon hour. After baking some homemade sweets and preparing dinner, I had thrown together a dessert package for the neighbours, hoping that this would lessen the blow of my complaint. I rehearsed what I had prepared to say while I

walk down the driveway and the five-minute dirt road to my neighbour's residence. The Whitmer's were always kind people from when I'd remembered them. Mrs. Whitmer had passed away, too young as my father would say. Much like my mother, Mrs. Wormer had left to go for a morning jog and had disappeared not five minutes from her own home. The difference between the two was that her body was found near the edge of the dense forest by authorities nearly four days later and, less than half a mile from her own front door.

The official cause of death was a bear attack, as the body was so horribly mangled and torn apart. Those five and a half long years without his wife had mentally destroyed Mr. Whitmer. He had become a hollow, cranky, old shell of the former man he was. Mr. and Mrs. Whitmer had always loved to be outside, with a vast array of pets, but in the years following Mrs. Whitmer's death,

Mr. Whitmer was rarely seen up. outside. The one memory that stuck with me about Mrs. Whitmer was the one of her telling me various tales of her husband's sweet tooth, as she bates me cookies the evening that my father had led the search party for my mother on the day she went missing. She had passed a year after my mother, nearly to the day. I knocked on Mr. Whitmer's door, silently praying that the tray of sweets the very least would be enough to brighten his mood. After nearly two minutes, I had reached my hand out to knock again, but jumped back when I heard the lock violently turn and the door was pulled open.

Hmm? What's this? He asked with a clear expression of confusion on his face. The old man was considerably more frail than the last time I'd seen him. His face riddled with wrinkles, his hair thin and grey. He was slouching toward the open door with his arm holding the door open in such a manner that it appeared that he was using the door to hold himself up. I was afraid he would fall over at any moment.

Uh, hi, hello Mr Whitmer. I started out while trying desperately to remember the speech I had planned out. I was doing some bacon for my dad and, uh, thought you might want a tray of some home-baked sweets and stuff. I awkwardly smiled while holding the tray out for him to take. A warm smile slowly crossed his face as he held at one hand to decline my offer. No, no, it's quite thoughtful, son But I haven't been able to eat anything like that in years My sugar's too high, see

He explained Oh, I, uh, I'm sorry Mr Whitmer I didn't realize I stammered feeling my own embarrassment Becoming clear of my face Before I could say anything else Mr Whitmer gazed out his front door and towards my house Your new pup must be driving your father bonkers

he's awful loud ain't he? Huh? Oh, uh, we don't have a new pup, Mr Whitmer. I felt chills run down my spine. The gravity of the situation hadn't fully sunken in yet, but it was startling nonetheless. That's why I came. I thought that maybe, maybe it was your dog,

I trailed off. He slowly adjusted his gaze to mine. I think. in that moment, both the old man and I had realised the same thing. I apologised to my neighbour for interrupting his day, to which he dismissed and welcomed me over any time. Before you go, he started, as I half turned away from his door. You'd best stay inside after dark.

Don't let you par out if you can help it, son. His face was pale, filled with fear, though he'd obviously been trying to hide it. Clearly, this man had known more than. than he was willing to let on. I nodded and began towards my house. That evening was not unlike most evenings for me. I made and ate dinner alone, prepared a plate for my father's return and hand-washed the dishes that I had dirted. I then made myself comfortable on the living room couch after popping in an old shark movie from the 70s into the DVD player. I wanted to be close to

the front door to greet my father upon his return, hence why I chose to reside temporarily within the closest room to the front entrance. After a particular scene when the antagonist shark of the film Jump Scared an old fishing boat, my father had unlocked the front door loudly. The creaky metal lock snapping open lined up nearly perfectly with a jump scare and I nearly fell off the couch

due to the startling sound my father made. My father entered the house, closing the door behind him as I regained my composure. I must have done a poor job of hiding my temperament temporary fright, as he asked if I was all right as soon as he saw me. I then explained the scare he gave me, to which we had a good laugh together. He then took up his shoes, warmed his dinner, and joined me for the film's finale.

Having seen the movie so often, my father had quoted nearly every memorable line left in the film, and we remarked on the film's greatness as the credits began to roll. My father had begun to feast while they searched through our films for another classic to play. I looked back to my father as soon as I heard the faint squealing sounds coming from outside. He sat a few feet behind me in his lazy boy armchair, chewing slowly and quietly as he listened. Mr. Whitmer, I started, but my father only nodded as he finished chewing and finished my sentence for me. He doesn't have a dog. I dropped by his place on my way home. I waited for my father to continue. I waited for my father to express how proud he was of

me for making our neighbour sweet. I waited for my father to express his theories as to what he believed the barking to be. I don't want you going outside for a while, not if you can help it. I'm going to take some time off and we're going to take a vacation soon. I looked to him with concern. He was raising more questions than he was answering, and I knew that if I was to pry, then he would only become stressed. My father rarely stresses, but when he does, he typically would not

but calm down for a few hours. I would not want him to lose any extra sleep over stress, as he was likely only getting the bare minimum amount of sleep anyway. My father and I indulged in my homemade sweets while trying to ignore the screaming animal outside. I had prayed that the sound would eventually fade into the background noise, but I could never get used to the whaling, no matter how hard I tried. My father had ended up going to bed shortly after 10 o'clock that evening.

I had decided to text my girlfriend while I finished watching an 80s science fiction robot movie to try and distract myself from the blood-curdling howling coming from my backyard. I did not want to tell my girlfriend about how the screeching had not stopped since our last phone call due to the lack of answers I possessed as to what was creating the screeching.

I was concerned that she would grow to worry for me. Ever figure out where neighbor's dog keeps barking every night? beside a text was a little yellow ponder emoji. You know, the one with a little index finger and thumbs stroke in the chin of the circular head. That's the one. No, not yet. It's probably just some wild animal scaring it. Or maybe it's the mating call of a fox or a coyote.

I messaged the back and used the same thinking emoji she had sent me. Now feeling stressed about the mysterious and every so constant animal howling outside, I decided that I would partake in potato chip eating to cure my anxious thoughts. I may have developed a bad habit of stress-eating junk food the night my mother went missing. Now I'm by no means of peace.

I'm quite thin as I rarely eat such foods to begin with. However, when I do, I eat a lot at once. I stood up off the couch and paused the film with a television remote. With the soundtrack of the movie now on pause, it was at this point that I'd suddenly realised the terror sounds from the outside

were no longer present. In fact, nearly every sound was gone. I was so quiet that I was positive I could hear the blood rushing from my ears. I heard my heart racing,

throbbing in my chest. My slow and shallow breaths came out like blaring bomb sirens when compared to the stillness in that moment. I think it stopped. I texted my girlfriend, after a long moment of standing still.

I took one step towards the kitchen and froze when I heard a loud crashing sound coming from the basement. I jumped as I heard what sounded like several glass panes smashing to a million pieces on the downstairs floor. My father had likely heard the loud crash too, as he was out of his room and down the stairs, leading to the second floor in a matter of seconds. His double-bowed shotgun held firmly in his hand. his knuckles white as he clutched the gun and with a satisfying click he opened the gun and popped two ammunition shells for the barrel and popped the shotgun closed

I stood motionless frozen staring deep into my father's eyes I was searching for comfort for anything that would calm me down anything to tell me that we would be okay and safe I never found what I was looking for

The hell was that, my father whispered under his breath as he stared behind me and towards the basement door. He kept his ears alert and listened for any further sounds, and he kept the shotgun loaded and firmly in his grasp. I didn't reply to him. I simply stood still. After another minute or two of us locked in the situation, tied like puppets by the strings of fear, my father slowly loosened his grip on the gun and brought it down to his side in one. hand. It must be a squirrel, or.

Just as quickly as my father had started speaking, he was cut off by the horrible wailing again. The wailing was much louder now. The sound was not coming from outside. This time the sound was coming from the basement, right below us. The window panes on the front door began to rattle, and pictures were violently shaken off the walls. I dropped my phone and brought up my hands to cover my ears. I clenched my teeth and shut my eyes. no matter how hard I tried, I was unable to prevent the sounds from reaching my ears.

My palms grew sweaty and wet. No, not sweat. It was blood. My ears bled and rang. My head pounded. My vision blurred. The whole world began to rapidly spin around me. At some point, my father grabbed my arm and led me outside in a panic.

He led me directly to the deep blue pickup truck that he drove, and I climbed into the passenger seat. while he went around to the driver's side and pulled himself inside. He gently tossed a shotgun to the backseat and gripped the steering wheel. After a moment of us catching our breaths, he looked at me and analysed my wounds. He too had a small trickle of blood originating from his ears. Are you hurt? He asked me, breathlessly.

No, I'm fine, I stammered out. What was that thing? I asked. Well, I shug and tell you, it ain't no bear. he stated while he looked around for his keys. After a long moment and his single deep inhale, followed by him blowing out all the air in his lungs aggressively through his mouth, he stated,

they're inside, as calmly as he could. I knew what that meant. We were trapped until one of us had decided to leave the temporary safety of the vehicle and head into the monster's new lair to retrieve our salvation. I'm faster than you are, I began, no, he said calmly yet firmly. I can fire the gun, you've shown me before. I said no, my father yelled, his emotions taking control over him.

I've lost your mother to that thing, and I ain't losing you to it. It was apparent that he had instantly regretted saying what he had said, as he was likely trying to hide this from me for some time. I wondered if Mr. Whitmer had known about the creature as well. I waited a long while before I asked what had been in my mind. Lost mom To what, dad? He was silently sobbing

For what felt like in eternity Before he wiped his eyes and looked over to me The night that we lost her He began slowly Seemly second-guessing On whether or not he should tell me I led that search party through the woods And eventually the sun began to set

We were going to pack it in for the night And look again come morning However, there was a shriek A small whimper, a cry of some sort, off in the distance. So a few of us went, flashlights drawn, and we take a look. Well, we turn a few trees and we get to where it came from. But they're in anything there. We look round and around, but still nothing.

Then one of the guys gets a bright idea to look up. I tell you, son, I prayed more in those five minutes than I have my whole life. He paused for about a minute His gaze fixed to the front door of the house Still wide open with the living room's orange light Spilling just outside the front door The whaling had stopped again Which to me was not any more relief than if it had kept going

He stroked his scruffy chin before continuing Up in that tree there was something big Looked to be like a really muscular badger Or maybe a Wolverine or some sort of small dog but the thing that glowed from the flashlight's beam it was your mother's favourite necklace he was just there dangling out of its mouth that thing was staring at us

with his lifeless eyes just pure black eyes he let out its cry the same one we've been hearing just a single yelp and it hopped off through the trees that one was the baby because something real big much bigger than it was following

We ran like hell out of there. We never found nothing again. Went looking the next day. Didn't even find the necklace. If my father had told me this tale any other night, I would have thought he was drunk the night he went searching for my mother all those years ago. However, given the current situation, I believed him.

Of course, the police didn't believe us. They thought we had encountered a raccoon in the trees or something else small, I suppose. As I gawked at my father, something caught my eye. Right outside his driver's side window, there were two yellow circles simply hovering. I shifted my gaze and peered out his window as he kept talking. I didn't pick up on what he was saying. I only focused on the figure outside his window.

I realized too late that the yellow warps were actually the moon's reflection on the shiny black eyes of the creature. The being smashed his head. through the window with ease, its massive, hulking, cano-like head, over my father's lap in front of his face. Both my father and I had jumped from terror. The creature began violently shaking his massive head back and forth, opening and closing its more. Its teeth were a deep yellow and looked more like shark's teeth. They were thick, triangular and serrated, and the beast had countless rows of this teeth in its snout. Its fur was thick, jet black, with matted patches of red. Blood formed around the top and the bottom of the creature's head from where it had cut

itself on the broken glass, yet it seemed to be in no pain as it continues to shake its fierce head, snarling and biting the air. Its eyes looked fake. They were bulging orbs of shiny blackness, almost like that of a stuffed teddy bear's eyes. Between my screaming and my father's kicking and pounding on the beast head, he yelled for me to fire the gun into the creature's face. I spun around and tried to reach for the gun in the back seat. My fingertips managed to graze the gun's handle as a wet, warm splash of liquid drenched my face, accompanied by a sickening wet, squishing sound. My father screamed and wiped my eyes and spat out the copper-tasting fluid. With an extreme deep crunching, more of my father's pained hollering and blood flying everywhere,

the beast had borne my father out the truck door window by his left arm and off into the night. Within seconds, I was alone. shaking in shock and in silence. I sobbed before slowly turning around and again reaching for the shotgun. I had not entirely processed what had happened in those short few moments as when I had retrieved the firearm

I aimed it out the window that the monster dragged my father out of and whimpered about how I didn't want to shoot my dad and how the beast was moving too much to get a shot. A series of quiet and fast knocking on my window jolted me back to reality as I spun around not sure what to expect. Mr. Whitmer stood outside my door, face full of confusion. Sonny, are you all right? What is your par?

He asked in his tired voice. I only screamed something about a diewolf going rogue, which, of course, had confused him even more so. Through my panicked attempts to warn the old man, he'd eventually understood the important part of my message and turned to go back to towards his house. The poor old man had made it three steps from a window before the canine creature had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and proceeded to mourn the man. He didn't even scream while the attack happened, either because the attack startled him so bad that his heart gave out, or because the animal had attacked his head and neck area

to begin with, and had killed him instantly. It viciously tore at the man and shook him around as though his corpse was a new chew toy for an over-excited dog. An arm had flown off and cracked my window before leaving a thick streak of blood from the large crack towards the ground. I nearly threw up when I saw the cryptid hold the body in its mouth,

stand on its hind legs, place its front paws on the torso of the old man's body and separate the body in half from the waist. I closed my eyes and listened to the horrible sound of the man being reduced to ribbons only feet away from me.

The sound of police sirens and the multicolored flashed lights had been enough to persuade the creature into hiding. I watched as it growled its deep growl and turned a full 180 degrees and sprinted into the dense forest behind my house. I sat there and sobbed, waiting for the officers to collect me. By the time a kind ambulance driver and a young police officer had arrived at the truck door, I was dry heaving and on the verge of hyperventilating. There was no physical trauma done to me, so I sat in the back of the end. ambulance with one of the young police officers and a blanket around me. She explained to me how

there was a call from the neighbour's house as the man who placed the call was worried from all the commotion outside. God bless you, Mr. Whitmer, I thought to myself. I then explained to the young woman how the dog-like creature had used it screaming to try and deafen my father and I, about how the animal had broken into the house and about how it dragged my father away, and lastly, about the death of Mr. Whitmer. The remains of Mr. Whitmer. had only been several long strips of flesh and clothes in a small puddle of blood with the odd bone fragment.

His whole right arm was later recovered just under my father's pickup truck on the passenger side. While the officers drew their weapons and examined the surrounding area, I kept insisting to the woman that he was a dog that lived in the trees with rows and rows of teeth

with a horrible screaming and with lifeless cold black eyes. They recorded the entire incident as a bear attack. of course, and they dismissed my story as shock-induced trauma. They found my father, still breathing, however, unconscious in the backyard

near the tree line. His whole left arm from about the shoulder down was severely shredded. He and I were rushed to the hospital in the ambulance, and he underwent immediate surgery on his arm. They could only do so much in terms of nerve repair. However,

he was able to keep his arm. He would go through several long months of therapy to regain nearly complete control over his arm and all his fingers. He cannot extend his finger in full, nor can he touch the palm of his hand with his fingertips. However, he has gotten used to using his hand quite well. He is still considerably weaker with that arm than the other, though he was always more dominant in his right arm anyway. As for me, I have received extensive therapy for my daily nightmares.

I've had the odd case of that creature returning me. in a state of sleep paralysis, which is a horror story on its own. The truly haunting part is that I haven't heard any sound since the attack about a year ago. The haunting part is knowing that the creature is out there and still alive. The haunting part is finding out that these creatures will go into hiding for 50 weeks out of the year, and they come out for two. The haunting part is hearing the screaming coming from the forest last night. accompanied by another much louder screaming, a much closer screaming.