CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I Pretended to be an Exorcist for Rent Money" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 19, 2025

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saint ZanderCreepypastas 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

The bar I worked at didn't even have a name. The sign out front had been blank since the early 2000s, and nobody who came in cared enough to ask what the place was called. We could have been called Drink Here, and it wouldn't have changed the thing. Most of our regulars were either in debt, going through their third divorced or waiting to die, or for a few, it was a combination. I worked at the bar because it was a bit of the bar,

paid me in actual money, not drink tokens or promises, most of the time. I was behind on rent again. My bank account was so low it rounded to zero, and I'd already tried every get-rich quick scheme that TikTok, Reddit, and sheer desperation had to offer. I didn't have the face for tutoring or the charm for streaming, and drop-shipping died before I figured out what the hell it even was. That night, I was wiping down a chipped glass for the sixth time, wondering if I could call in sick tomorrow and still keep the job. I stared at the TV bolted above the bar.

Usually, it was sports reruns or weather warnings. That night, some televangelist was pacing around a fake church set, waving a crucifix like he was directing traffic. He was going on about demons, speaking in a voice that cracked between shouts and sobs. People in the audience were crying. It looked like bad theatre. But what made me freeze was the giant number at the bottom of the screen. Cleansing services start at $2,49.

I blinked at it. The screen cut to a testimony. some woman hugging him and crying about how a walls don't scream anymore. Then the price flashed again, nice and bold. I stood there, glass in hand, getting ready for round seven, wondering how this guy was making three months of my rent by waving a book and shouting a drywall. Then I set my glass down, wiped my hands and my jeans,

and made a decision that, at the time, felt kind of, of brilliant. Back at home, I sat on my mattress, opened my laptop and typed, how to do an exorcism real, real good into the search bar. The stuff that came up was mostly religious doctrine and official church rules, all of which bowled down to, you need to be ordained and also don't do this. Not helpful. So, I switched to the weirder side of the internet, blogs with names like Sacred Warrior Cleansing Services, and Ascended Realm Brotherhood. That was where the real gold was, guys and robes charging $500 an hour to wave herbs and

throw salt at basements. I could do that. I already had herbs in my kitchen. Sure, they were expired parsley flakes and garlic powder, but it was a start. I rode to shopping list. One Bible Didn't matter which version I found a beat up one online

for four bucks Salt Table salt worked fine Crucifix plastic from a Halloween shop spray painted gold to look slightly less like a toy candles

The dollar store ones that came in packs of ten Latin phrases copy pasted from demonology forums I didn't know what I was saying and didn't care, as long as I could confidently pronounce them. I practiced in the mirror that night, waving the crucifix and muttering, Exorciso te spiritus immundus, while trying not to laugh. I looked ridiculous, but I knew it wouldn't matter.

If someone was desperate enough to call me, the nods were good, they didn't have a priest on speed dial. They'd be about as clueless about priests and exorcist. as me. I made a Craigslist listing under the name Brother Elias because it sounded both biblical and fake enough that nobody would try locking me up. Added a line that said, no spirit too dark, no presence too strong, guaranteed results. I went to bed and figured it would be a few days before anyone actually called. It took six hours from the time I woke up. The call came in around noon. I almost ignored it because I thought it was my landlord again.

But something told me to pick it up. Probably that little voice in my head called rent anxiety. She sounded nervous, quiet, breathy voice, like she thought someone was listening on her end too. Said she'd been hearing banging at night and whispers in the hallway. Thought maybe someone had died in the house years ago and never left. She mentioned she lived alone, which made her desperation more believable. People who live alone get haunted more.

I think there's a law in movies or something. I scribbled down her address, told her brother Elias would arrive within the hour, then immediately spent 15 minutes googling how far away she lived, and trying to remember if I'd printed out my Latin cheat sheet. I didn't have a car. I had to borrow my neighbours. a beat-up civic that smelled like astray and beef jerky. I kept rehearsing lines on my way over.

Be gone, foul spirit, and I cast you back into the abyss. Even though I had no idea where the abyss was, or if it had a return policy, her house was really small and beat up, shutters held together with cracked paint, looked like it hadn't been renovated since the Cold War. She answered the door in a floor bathrobe and heavy slippers, hair up in pink rollers, real throwback energy. Her eyes darted past me like she thought someone might be following. I'm so glad you came, she whispered, like this was a covert operation. I stepped in, holding my props in a tote bag.

I pulled out the plastic crucifix, the candles and the salt. She watched every move like I was safe. I did a walk through, muttering random Latin phrases that I couldn't pronounce correctly. She didn't question it, so I kept going. Spiritus sanctum, dominoes, repelley, malum, something like that. I wasn't fluent, all literate for that manner. I sprinkled salt in the corners of a hallway. waved my Bible in a lazy cross pattern near the ceiling fan

and shouted into the closet for dramatic effect. Nothing responded, but she gasped anyway, which felt like a win. Then, I got to the kitchen. She had told me that was where the bang was loudest. I looked around, opened a few cabinets, and tapped on a few walls like I knew what I was doing.

I heard something scratch behind the fridge. I froze. Actual panic. I thought maybe it was going to be an actual ghost and I'd have to either fight it or apologize to it. But it wasn't a ghost. It was a rat. Huge, fat, smug.

It looked at me and blinked slowly like it knew I wasn't a real priest. There it is, I thought to myself, the dark entered his physical form, a nasty one too. I then quickly turned around to the woman to give her the awful news. Ma'am? She looked at me, eyes wide as dinner plates. You'll have to leave the house. I'm going to have to fight this demon.

She gasped and covered her mouth. You saw it? Yes, it's evil, more evil than many I've encountered in my day. She suddenly got a serious expression on her face. She said she'd pray for me before turning around and walking away. I sighed. I actually was about to fight a demon. This rat was massive.

I reached around the fridge. It nicked my fingers, but I managed to catch it. I threw it outside the window, hoping that it'd do the trick. Before stepping out, I did a few jumping jacks to make it look like I was really putting the work in. When I stepped outside, the woman nearly jumped for joy. I banished it, I lied, but it'll take a few hours for its presence to fully dissipate. She looked at me like I'd handed a soul back. Then she gave me

$200 bucks in cash, folded it in half, and tucked it in a Kleenex like this was an illegal transaction. I told her to keep a windows open for airflow. She nodded solemnly. I left before the rat came back

from the backyard for round two. I drove home feeling like a lunatic but a $200 lunatic. After the first call, the job came easier. Some people messaged through Craigslist, some left voicemails that sounded drunk.

A few were angry at first, like they were expecting someone else. But once I showed up with my black shirt and candle pack, they calmed down. One guy had me exercise his bathroom. I waved some smoke around the toilet while he cried on the couch. None of the places were haunted. Most had leaky pipes or weird neighbours. One woman heard voices that turned out to be a TV left on in another room. Another guy swore his mirror was possessed because he couldn't see his reflection blink. I started enjoying it in a way. I upgraded my gear, bought a slightly nicer crucifix from a thrift store.

It was wood instead of plastic, which meant it probably wouldn't melt in direct sunlight. I found a second-hand priestcoat that fit well enough if I didn't. button it. I also memorized more Latin phrases that sounded impressive if I said them quickly and with conviction. At this point, I was sure ghost business

was a joke, a profitable, idiot-proof scam. Everyone wanted to believe in something, and I was more affordable than therapy or actual religion. It was around six in the evening when my phone rang.

I was microwaving instant noodles and trying to remember if I still had eggs in the fridge. I answered with my usual fake calm voice. Brother Elias speaking. The man on the lines sounded tense. He said he got my number from a friend for whom I had performed in exorcism. Didn't say who. Said he had a situation and needed me to come out tonight if possible.

Offer double my rate before I could even respond. I grinned and told him that he's too kind. He gave me an address on the edge of town. He told me the house had been empty for a while. He hadn't wanted to go back in there alone, but now that I'd be coming with him, he felt pretty confident. Said there had been an incident.

When he asked him what kind, he paused. Personal, he said. But the energy is still there. I'm pretty sure. I wanted to ask what he meant. But I also didn't care. He was paying double. I threw my supplies in the tote again,

grabbed the wooden crucifix, and a fresh box of candles, then borrowed the Civic for another run. The check engine light came on before I hit the freeway. It had been doing that since I borrowed it last week. I ignored it, the same way I ignored every. every other warning in my life.

The house was exactly what I expected from someone who described it as having energy. It was sat behind a chain link fence that leaned more than it stood. One of the upstairs windows was boarded up and an old satellite dish was pointed at the ground instead of the sky.

The man met me at the gate. To his credit, he looked more normal than my usual customers. He tucked in his shirt, neat hair, with his hands folded in front of him. He handed me a $100 bill and said he'd pay the rest when it was done. Inside, it smelled horrific. I can't even describe the smell, but I wanted to get out of there, pronto. Everything was still.

Furniture under sheets, carpet covered in that fine grey dust that sticks to your shoes, and makes you feel like you're walking on dead skin. I walked in first, but at this point, I'd been doing this exorcism gig for so long, I actually wasn't even fake in my confidence anymore. The man followed behind me without speaking. He was so quiet that it made me miss the people who would ask dumb questions

or react when I waved my fake holy water. Instead, he hovered near the door and stared into the living room. I lit the candles one by one, muttering phrases I was pretty sure were indistinguishable from actual priests now. I sprinkled salt around the door frames, making sure to look intense and focused while thinking about what I would order on the drive home. I opened my Bible to a random passage, trace my fingers down the margin, and read the first verse I saw. Woe unto them that call evil good and good evil, I said out loud. But something felt off, not loud or obvious, more like a draft you only notice when the back of your neck starts to which.

I'd circle through every room on the main floor, performing what I generously call rights. I figured we're about done, though I hadn't found out what the cause of his, haunting was yet, then. The hallway door slams shut behind me. I didn't jump, but my shoulders did move a little, unprofessionally. I turned around, trying to see what made the noise. Another door slammed. This time the one to the kitchen.

That one shook the wall. A second later, something clattered behind me. I turned and saw a plate spin off the counter. counter and explode onto the floor. I paused. I looked at the homeowner to gauge if this was some kind of sick prank, maybe a set-up, a weird joke to get back at whoever referred to me. But he wasn't laughing.

He looked nervous and scared. Are you seeing this? I asked, pointing at the mess. He nodded. I stared at the shattered plate. then at the ceiling. Okay, I said, a voice a little higher than before. Strong one, strong presence. We'll need more tools for this.

I started walking toward the front door. If this was a prank, I wasn't giving them the satisfaction. If it wasn't, then I was going to regroup in the car, come up with a better excuse, or just drive away, and pretend someone in my immediate family died or something. I reached for the door and grabbed the handle with what I hoped to look like casual authority, turned it.

Nothing happened. I twisted harder. It didn't budge. I glanced over my shoulder. You lock this? He shook his head slowly. I tried again, still locked. I then leaned into it, pressing my weight forward, then stepped back and gave it a good rattle.

It stayed shut. That was when the sweat started under my shirt. We'll... We'll give it a second, I said out loud. I turned back toward the man, hoping for some input. He wasn't looking in my direction. Instead, he was looking toward the whole. hallway. His face had gone slack, his mouth opened slightly, and his eyes widened without blinking.

I didn't like that expression. I followed his gaze. A wind came through the hallway, cold and unnatural. It passed through me with enough pressure to push the air out of my lungs. I staggered and grabbed the doorframe to steady myself. Then. I saw her. She stepped from the shadows near the stairs, but her feet didn't move. They hovered, dragging nothing. Her form shimmered.

Her face was twisted and sunken, as if something had scooped half of it out. Her eyes were pitch black and glossy, dripping some thick black sludge that slid down her cheeks and vanished before hitting a jaw. Her hair looks soaked Her dress clung to her in patches Like it had dried in places And stayed wet in others I wasn't quite sure what to do That's her

He said turning to face me Instinctively I got my salt jar out And hurled salt at the supposed ghost It did Nothing Then I threw the entire jar at her. If this was a person in a costume, it was about to do some real damage. It went through her and hit the floor behind her, bursting open in a stupid little splash of white grains.

The blessed salt did nothing, the man quizzed. Blessed, I thought to myself. You had to bless the salt? I saw the man trembling, his hands at his sides, eyes locked on her. I looked back at the ghost. This whole time, she completely ignored me and my presence. Her gaze was fixed on him. She moved. One moment she stood by the wall, and the next, she passed straight through the air and collided with him.

He dropped instantly. His back hit the floor, and then he began to convulse. It wasn't natural. His body seized in waves, his arms smacked the floor and his legs bent wrong. His mouth opened, but no noise came out. He slowly started levitating. I stood, frozen, completely useless. I had no script for this part.

None of my notes said what to do when your fake demon actually showed up. I looked around for something holy, but all I had left was a melted case. candle stub and the Bible. I turned and ran for the front door. I didn't expect it to open. I reached for the knob with a full belief that it would be fused shut. But it turned. The door gave away with no resistance. I didn't wait to think about why. I stepped out into the cold night, walked fast to the Civic, and drove off without checking if leaving that front door open, meant I just released the demon out into the streets. My hand shook on the wheel so badly, I nearly drifted off the path twice, before returning

to the main road. My legs bounced under the dashboard. My stomach was a solid block of guilt and confusion. I didn't even know what I had seen. I kept thinking maybe it was some weird performance art gone wrong. Maybe I'd inhaled something in that house, mold hallucinations. That was a thing, right? I parked three streets away from my apartment and sat there with the engine running.

I thought about what would happen if I called someone, told the cops there was something wrong at that house. They'd asked me what? I couldn't say, a dead woman possessed a guy who hired me to perform an exorcism. I didn't even know his name. I'd get asked questions I didn't have answers for. I pulled out my phone and hit the non-emergency number. said I was a concerned neighbour, hadn't seen the guy in a while, heard something weird from inside, thought someone should check on him. The dispatcher thanked me and said they'd send someone out.

I hung up and stared at the ceiling of my car for a while. I was halfway through reheating the same noodles from earlier, when the phone rang again, same number as before. Hello? Hello? Hi, the officer said. You called early about someone on Shorewell Lane? Yeah, I said. Did you find anything? He laughed a little. Guy's fine, said he was meditating, really friendly. House looked good too. Clean, quiet, nothing unusual. He said he appreciated us checking in, but asked neighbours not to bother him with noise anymore. I didn't say anything for a second.

Right, I said, Good, thanks for letting me know. I hung up, stared at the floor, then at the window, then back at the floor. By morning, my eyes felt like sandpaper, and my hands still had that post-adrenaline tingle. I couldn't stop replaying it. Every time I blinked, I saw her face again. Those black holes where her eyes should have been.

the thick drip sliding down her face. I told myself to forget it and move on. But I couldn't. I had to make sure. I slowed as I passed the man's house. My eyes went to the window. He was there, standing behind the glass. He was smiling.

His head followed my car as I passed, slow and smooth, like it was mounted on something that could rotate full circle if needed. I drove forward, turned the car, and didn't stop again until I was home with the door locked and the candles thrown in the trash. I saw all I needed to see. I sat at my desk and deleted every ad I'd posted. Brother Elias was officially retired. Maybe I wasn't cut out for the holy art.

After all.