CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I met the scariest thing in the woods" Creepypasta

Episode Date: July 14, 2020

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by HeyyyCoconut: 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- Shan Qiao: ►https://www.artstation.com/artwork/k2ZLK►https://www.instagram.com/qiao_shan_/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-

This is an old story, which is fitting. I'm old now myself. I've never shared it, so I suppose it's a new story as well. I grew up in the rural south, down in the heat and the hollers, in small towns where there were more churches than people, where old ladies in the Sunday best would cluck and scoff at advancement and its perceived sins and then go talk of fire out of the burn on a child's arm. No one took the Lord's name in vain, but we held our breath when walking past the dead. We hung mirrors out to distract the devil.

This was the time when a man could do as he pleased, short of murder, and it was considered private family business. Everyone knew the bad things about everyone else and their families were generations back. Small towns are like that. The bad things were talked about, but only in stuffy front rooms were out back in the farms. Only ever among people not involved in it. After all, it was private business. I was the youngest of my family. I had two older brothers and an older sister.

They left home as soon as they could. One brother to the army, the other to the mills and the drink. My sister got married at 16 and made her escape. I think her husband was a nice man. I was left at home with a dead mother and an angry father. I was angry at them for leaving me, but they barely made it out. It would have been impossible with a child. Mama died when I was three or so.

I heard whispers around town about what happened. Officially she killed herself in the creek behind our farm, but I don't know anyone who would willingly lay down in shallow water and let the trickle carry them away. People talked about what probably really happened, that she didn't lay down in that water all by herself but there was nothing to prove and after all

that was private business I remember it was brought up to the man who was my father and later when he was drinking I heard him stumbling around and slurring that he was the scariest thing in these damn woods

and they better remember that I was five or so when everyone left me with a man who was my father our farm was out of the town limits and no one wanted to be around a drunk and maybe killer so it was just me and him.

He was as mean sober as he was drunk. I actually preferred him drunk. He was slower and clumsier that way. He would send me out into the night sometimes, I think, because he knew I hated the summer dark. The heat never left with the sun. Things creeped out in the dark. The woods I played in by day weren't my friends in the shadows.

I would try to stay inside. He would get angrier. He would beat me and yell that he was scarier than anything in those damn woods and I would do well to remember or so help me God, get your ass out there, boy, before I get my hands on you. I had run out into the dark one night.

He was meaner than usual and he followed me out. I felt him grazed the back of my shirt, but his foot fell through a hole on a rotting porch and his body fell with it. It was enough time for me to get away. I ran into those dark woods. I had so many spider webs I was certain I'd be wrapped up in a cocoon soon,

waiting for something big and hungry to find me. But I could hear yelling and cursing behind me, and after all, he was the scariest thing in those woods, so I kept running. I ran until I couldn't hear him any more, till the ground grew strange vines and the trees looked different. Everything looks different in the dark, which is one of the reasons I hate it so much. I ran until I couldn't.

I was tired and hungry and thirsty. I was covered in dirt and webs and blood from all the scratches the bushes gave me. I decided I was done running and flopped down where I stood. I fell asleep. Maybe I just passed out. I woke up in a holler I hadn't seen before. It was green. and growing. There was a clear pool in the bottom. Blackberry briars and honeysuckles were

tangled together and rambled over the ground and up the trees. It was the nicest thing I had ever seen. I don't know which of you have been to the south in the summer. The heat there never leaves. Morning, noon or night, it's always hot, always sticky. But it was cool here, deep in the woods, down in this holler. I drank the water and ate the blackberries while I devised a plan I could stay here I could live in this little lush place and drink spring water and eat blackberries for the rest of my life

I didn't need to go back I was sitting in the grass when she showed up I don't know that it was actually a she I don't know what I met she was walking towards the holler taking long, slow strides. She looked rickety.

That's the best way I can describe it. Like if a person knocks a joint wrong and the limbs goes all wobbly and loose and bends in wrong ways. That was how she moved. Like her muscles couldn't hold onto the bones just right. I remember watching her weave through the Blackberry thickets. I swear they slithered out of a way.

Her head had lulled to the side as if her neck couldn't support. it. She hadn't looked my way, but I had a terrible feeling she was watching me. I thought about running, but I didn't think I would make it. I did the only thing I could think of. Good morning. Afternoon, ma'am. After all, every southern child knows that politeness is key. I stood up as smartly as I could, which wasn't much. I had been laying in the pool and the dirt in me had turned to mud. I was stained from blackberries, and I'm pretty sure my clothes were torn.

That lolling head rolled my way. Her eyes. They were so large and black. The holler was getting colder, and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to be out in the heat and dust and sun. Her body turned slowly to match the direction of her head, and she started swaying towards me. How are you doing on this fine day? My mouth was drying up. I searched through all the knowledge in my five-year-old brain for some wisdom to help me.

She paused in a walking and sank down to the ground. Sank isn't the right word for it. She collapsed, like a puppet cut off its strings, folding her limbs under her. She propped her head up on her hand and her chin was really, resting on a palm, but her fingers. They reached up a face to the top of her head. They didn't end in nails. It was like the fingertips themselves were twisted and hard.

I stood for a minute and then sat down as well. Have you had breakfast? I didn't know if this was the right thing to say, but all the grown-ups said it to each other in the mornings when they met after the good mornings and how are you today? No, she said slowly. I haven't eaten. Her voice was soft, but the soft of rotting wood,

the kind that crumbles when you touch it and all the bugs scurry away. Would you like some blackberries? I asked. Grownups offered to feed each other when they said they hadn't eaten breakfast. She made her sound like twigs, scratching a window, and I realized it was a laugh. "'Aren't you polite?' she said. "'I found a little rabbit this morning,

"'but I don't know if there's enough meat for all the work. "'She was watching me closely, "'and I remember feeling that something was very wrong. "'I nodded and made the, "'hm, sound grown-ups do, and they don't know what else to say. "'How did a little thing like you make it into my hollow?' She asked, "'What's a hollow?'

I was confused. I didn't know that word. "'This place is a hollow. I live in hollow places.' She said, gesturing around us. But how did you get into the hollow? I thought it was a holler. I was very certain I was right.

Everyone called it a holler. She shrugged. "'Same thing. Now, why are you in this hallow?' "'Another different word.' I was very confused. She understood the face I made and rolled her eyes. "'Hollars are hallowed, hollow places. "'It's all the same.'

"'I didn't think it was, but I wasn't going to argue with her. "'I was running and I got lost and now I'm here,' I told her. I didn't want her to get annoyed that I hadn't answered her question. She poked up a little bit. Oh? She said. What were you running from?

I shrugged and started picking at the grass, but I had a feeling that not answering was not an option. My dad, he's the scariest thing in the woods, I said. She snorted and narrowed her eyes. He is not, she said, and dismissed the idea with a jerk of a hand. He is, he says it all the time. I needed him to be the scariest thing. If there was something worse than him, how would I make it?

Does he? She asked. She plugged a leaf and was twirling it in those long fingers. How would you like him to meet the scariest thing in the woods? I thought about it. If he met something scarier, maybe he would be too scared to be mean. I gave her a little nod, and she grinned at me. Her teeth were too many and crowded.

She handed me the leaf. This will make him meet the scariest thing, she said. Like a spell? I asked. She shrugged. What's the spell? I was staring at the leaf. intensely, but it just looked like a leaf. I just gave it to you.

But spells have to rhyme, I looked at her, shocked. Everyone knew that spells only worked if they rhymed. She made a face at me, though I didn't know the expression. I learned later it was incredulous. Are you telling me how to do my magic? She had narrowed her eyes at me. I shrugged and muttered something about real spells and magic and rhyming. She did the twig scratch laugh and snapped the leaf out of my hands.

You're lucky that you're a novelty, she said. A rhyming spell, just for you. She tapped the leaf against her face. When she started talking again, her voice was low. It was the trees groaning in the storm. It sucked me in and held me. The way a bog sucks in the living and holds onto the dead. The sounds outside were getting muffled.

I felt my ears pop. First allowed to start the meat. Say it once. I'm at the street. Second allowed to seal his fate. Say it twice. I'm at the gate. Third allowed and not once more.

Say it thrice. I'm through the door. She slid a gaze over to me and her eyes were so black and bright. I started to get dizzy. I realised I hadn't been breathing. She joked her head towards the woods. Off you go, she said in a crumpled wood voice. I was up and running.

I ran and ran until the woods were normal and the air was hot. I ran until I burst out of the trees and into the sun. I was back. I felt something jabbed my leg. I dug into my pocket and pulled out a perfect unrumpled leaf I was gasping for air I didn't know if it was the run

maybe it was the leaf I didn't mean to bring back I looked around I knew where I was I was on the little dirt path that ran to our farm it was actually a dirt road but everyone called it the street you go down the main street

and keep following after it turn the dirt and you just follow the street to Daniel's farm. That's what the grown-up said when they gave directions. I felt a feeling that I didn't know the word for. Later, I learned that it was uneasy. Maybe panic. I didn't remember telling the rickety lady about the street. We had a gate at the start of the farm too.

I didn't tell her about that either. It was full panic then. My brain was screaming wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I heard a rumble and thought it was her. I was spinning in circle so I could see her if she tried to creep out of the woods. But it wasn't her.

It was the sky. Clouds were rolling in, fat and purple. The sky was the yellow of an old bruise. I don't know if you've ever seen a sudden thunderstorm, but they're in a category all their own. rain doesn't come down in drops, it rolls down in sheets. The wind doesn't blow till the rain comes. The air is so still and hot.

I didn't know what to do. I ran back towards the farm. I'd come out on the street, close to the town, and was screaming the hallway home. The gate was closed when I got to the farm, but I climbed it easily. I shot to the old house and started banging on the door. street, meets, fates and gates, the door, the door not once more. My father opened it.

His eyes were bloodshot, red against the yellow. He was swaying, already drunk. Shut the hell up, boy! He yelled and cuffed me around the head. Don't think I forgot about you running off. He grabbed me and pulled me inside the house. It was dark and the house smelled like whiskey and old vomit. He reached onto his belt

but realized he wasn't wearing one swearing, he looked around for something to hit me with. I was crying and trying to tell him about the lady in the woods. He shook me hard. Shut up! He screamed.

I am the scariest thing out there. Suddenly, the words were coming out of my mouth. I tried to hold them in, but they burned, made me cough. I had to get them out. First allowed to start them, meat, said it once, she's at the street. I was staring at the window.

Everything was yellow and sick. Thunder started booming, and I saw something at the edge of the street. Something moving slowly and rickety. He was squinting at me like he knew something was wrong, but he was too drunk to figure it out. He was swaying on his feet, and he shook his body like he was trying to shake off the feeling of wrong. His face twisted up.

and he started coughing. The words turned to wretching. He was trying to gasp out words between the spasms. God damn it, boy, what the hell is? I'm the scariest thing in the woods. He's down on his knees now.

He looked at me and looked at the window. He followed my gaze. Second, aloud, sealed your fate. Say it twice. She's at the gate. My voice was a whisper. and I was crying, but I didn't fight the words this time. We were staring at the window when the lightning flashed.

It hit somewhere near us with a boom that shook the house. We could hear the squeal of the gate as it was forced open. Boy, he said, what's going on? I think that was the fastest I'd ever seen him sober up. I tried to explain, but nothing would come out. I couldn't find any words except for the ones. I didn't want to say. Third,

aloud, and not once more, say it thrice, she's through the door, the words came out. He took them as a warning and tried to bite his own words back. The porch was creaking

and groaning. He was on his knees, heaving. I could see trees starting to move out the window. The winds were starting to come in. Another boom of thunder that rattled the house, but the door kept rattling

even after everything else stopped. His face was dripping sweat and bright red. He spat in the floor and it was red too. He was watching the door. It was shaking so hard and so fast. And then I noticed the locks. With every shaken jerk, they were turning. He started coughing and all that came up was red.

He finally caught his breath and inhaled deep. I'm the scariest thing in the woods, he screamed. The door flew inward, and she was inside. She snatched him up, her hand wrapped around his face, and she held him an arm's length as he screamed and clawed at her. Her arm didn't move. There was no looseness in her now. I was cowering on the floor. He jerked in a grasp and howled.

She flashed the teeth at me and smiled. Out the door, quick now, little rabbit, she cooed. I might still be hungry afterwards. Somehow I made it up and out. The rain hit me as I hit the yard. The trees were groaning. The wind was screaming. He was screaming.

There was laughing. Hollering. Hollowing. Hollas in a hollow place. Hallowed hollows for hollas. Holla. Hollow. Hollow.

Hello. The people from town found me later. They went up to the farm and came back yellow as the sky had been. They didn't tell me what they found. No one would even whisper about it around me. A family in town took me in. I moved north when I got older. I stay out of the woods.

I stay in large crowds, away from the hollow places. I avoid churches and graveyards. Hollers. hollows, hallows, they're all the same, and she might still be hungry.