CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I signed up for a tailor made horror experience" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 18, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by permets2apollo: 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►Armin Rangani: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Xn...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-

They say that if you want a first date to be effective, you should make it a horror film. Apparently, something about the brain chemicals released makes people more attached to each other, which is a tad manipulative if you think about it too long. But if it works, it works. However, this is far from the first date. It might just be the last if I don't do absolutely everything I can. If a horror film can get a girl attached, this might just make us fused at the waist. Getting tickets was surprisingly easy.

It moves around the country fairly often and whenever it arrives, everyone flocks to get a load of the latest horror experience. But Lisa was friends with a guy running the venue, so it worked itself out. No one scorns a bit of polite corruption when it benefits them. Still, I paid for the tickets. 25 pounds each. And from what I've heard, that makes it vastly underpriced. Thomas Davis calls a tightly suited woman at the waiting room desk

As a worker leads a middle-aged man to the back door For a horror attraction, the waiting room is surprisingly peaceful A lot of places tried to spook you early With actors and tacky decorations draped everywhere That was certainly what I expected when I walked in But it seemed they preferred to keep it professional At least on this end You see, the frights aren't really for us

They split every pair in two, with one becoming a part of the attraction as to give their partner a personalised scare. Horror with a human touch. That's their slogan. Jack Amos, a secretary says, another boy going to the back room. Still a few more to go before me. Like clockwork, as one person leaves, another enters the waiting room. This time, a greying older man who chooses to sit next to me,

despite the few empty seats. You can tell with some people when they are going to talk. They sort of look at you to make sure you won't bite, I suppose, and their mouths rest open as if warming up the machinery. Who do you have on the other side? I asked, preempting the man. My grandson, it's a treat for his birthday. He says, a cheerful smile, stretching out the lines on his face and pulling his white stubble tight.

Birthday, huh? How old is he? Fifteen, a tad young, but looking around the waiting room, I see a little girl waiting excitedly beside her mother. Like I said, this side isn't for the scare, so they allow it. At the other entrance, it's purely 18 plus. He's always been a bit of a horror buff, the old man says, trying to keep up the conversation, but my attention is still on that child. It's allowed, but I can't say I understand it. What kind of parent brings a child to this sort of thing? I don't consider myself much of a moral busybody,

but that still doesn't sit right with me. Cute little girly thing too, long blonde hair with a pink bow. I wager she'll come out of the room sobbing before long. Though, then again, despite people periodically going in, I've never seen someone leave. They must go out through the back entrance, I suppose. Do you think they'll let us choose the theme? I ask, pitying him.

I've always hated people who are mean to old people, and he is clearly lonely, but actually having to be the one to keep someone else entertained was never my thing. Not sure, but if they do, I'm going to ask for something based on the Saw films. I don't exactly get the appeal, but my grandson adores them.

I never quite got Gore films either. It's just a cheap way of getting a scare, not even a scare, it's just disgusting. I'll probably ask for the human centipede. My girlfriend can't get enough of those awful films. Coldfield family, a board secretary calls. The little girl in the pink bow and a distracted mother take their time going through the door to the next room. And like clockwork, another customer sits and waits.

Still, how much can they possibly do? They let people in every few minutes. They can't spend much time in each room. customer. The old man tilts his head. I reckon they have multiple rooms, one for each group. There's probably a fair few members in the back room. True, I didn't think of that.

Plus, I doubt they'd get such rave reviews if they half-assed it. I always love hearing old people swear. It simultaneously feels wrong, like hearing Father Christmas swear. But it also feels like, after how long they've lived, they've bloody well earned the right. And the old man was correct about the same. reviews. You never hear anything bad about it. If the rush for tickets wasn't evident enough, you just needed to look at their online review pages. Come to think of it, I don't think I've seen a review lower than five stars. Michael McCormack, the secretary calls. My turn, I say to the old man,

a little uneasy about leaving him alone. He's clearly lonely, and by how late he was coming in, he was going to be waiting a long while. But I can't keep Lisa or the staff waiting now, can I? A smiley staff member in an orange shirt meets me at the next door and leads me through. As he opens it, I get my first glimpse into the next room. Just the hallway, brightly lit with white walls, the corner turning off past my line of sight. He gestures for me to go through in front, and I do so. Even though I have no clue where I'm supposed to go.

if the path splits off. He stops me as the hallway widens into the first room, which is essentially a smaller version of the waiting room without any chairs. At the desk sits an even more bored-looking secretary in an even tighter suit. Just the usual Vivian, the staff member says, her plastic smile still on his face. Are any other consultants free? Mr. Ramirez isn't seeing in one at the moment, she says.

That's room four. Tah. And he leads me to the next door. This one is more in line with a horror aesthetic than the last. A thick metal door with one of those twisty handles you see on a submarine. As I step through, the door closes behind me, and I notice there is no handle. I guess I was right about leaving through the other side.

Room four, like she said, the staff member says, leaving me to continue my walk without him. The lights are bright. A bit too bright, like the fluorescence in a nightclub bathroom. On the walls are these foam boards, with alternate lines of ridges, soundproofing like you see in YouTube's backgrounds. Very professional. Don't want the noise from the fright rooms distracting the people waiting.

I get to room four and knock, but the door drifts open before my fist hits at the third time. Not metal, a wooden door like the waiting room. This time in cold, clinical. or white. Inside is a tall Hispanic man with black hair splotched with grey. He calls me in and points me to a wooden chair.

This whole thing feels like a doctor's appointment. What are you going to prescribe me, Doc? So, first of all, I'm going to need you to sign this. He hands me a thick pile of papers stapled together. What's this? Boring legal stuff. Don't worry about it.

I just need you to sign your name here. He says in an upward tone pointing to a line, and then I need you to make a verbal declaration of understanding. I will read a sentence to you, and you can say, I agree, and we get into the consultation, or you can not say that and this whole thing ends, though I will remind you that this experience is non-refundable. I nod. I'm not the type to get cold feet, especially when I'm footing the bill.

I, Michael McCormack, understand and agree to the term then once I go through the door at the end of the hall, I am bound to follow the rules of and complete the experience. In other words, once you go through that door, there is no going back. I agree. Very good. He drums his hands on the contract before putting it onto his desk. Now, I'm to be your fright consultant.

Funny title I know. Basically, my job is to help create a perfect horror experience for... He checks his notes. Miss Lisa Monroe. Do you have any initial ideas for what you want to do? Most clients come in basing it on a movie, video game, or book their partner likes. I was figuring human centipede, but I'm guessing you don't really have the time or resources to do much with something so ambitious. Well, that streamlines things.

And don't you worry, we are more than capable of providing for all our clients' needs. Let me just send an email, and you are ready to go to the fright room to prep for your personalized experience. After a few beeps and the clatter of a mechanical keyboard, Mr Ramirez leads me down the hallway past rows of advisory rooms. If I had to estimate, I'd say there were ten in total. We get to the end of the hall, where we meet with another submarine-like door. Room four, once again, they will be prepared for you. The door slams behind me, once again with no handle to open.

Point of no return it is then. Exactly, what the contract says. Turning around, I see I'm in another corridor. Once again, ten rooms with the door at the end of the corridor. But the lights are dimmer here, and they flicker. I'm in the customer side, back entrance. Time to set up my personalised horror experience. Time to scare Lisa.

She is going to love it. Room 4. I search the door numbers until I find it. even the fonts are creepier now and twisted Roman numerals like scratch marks the door opens with a click as I twist the cold metal knob inside it stood three people

in orange uniform shirts white plastic grins on their faces just through the next door one of the three women says gesturing to another door from the current room you people like your doors have noticed just through the next door to repeat

behind that door the lights are brighter and a balding man in a suit sits next to what looks like a dentist's chair without that blinding light Welcome Mr McCormack Please take a seat I have expected him to adjust it But the chair is just the right size as it is This is the set-up room

The room where you were just in was the fright zone Or the experiencer sees We just need you to get you prepared first right i suppose you've got a costume or something face paint something a little more high budget than that he chuckles we spare no expense in making an immersive experience for our clients he pulls a small mic from his desk and murmurs into it a staff member entering locking the door behind her still beaming ear to ear in her hands she has a chart which she passes to the head technician now the brook The process is fairly simple, as these things go. It looks impressive, really, but all it is is a few stitches only the end.

Stitches? That's a bit severe, isn't it? You did opt for human centipede, sir. My heart sinks. Good one, but really, tell me about the costume. The balding man doesn't laugh, and the staff member doesn't stop smiling. This isn't a joking matter, sir.

please just relax it'll take a few moments what come on i'm not stupid you can't do this it was tricky yes having to recruit people on such short notice but don't you worry sir it was well within our means and no burden at all when it comes to customer satisfaction my hand sweat into the handrests i noticed the key on the staff member's side but i stutter looking for excuses won't it hurt well we'll anesthetize you for the initial procedure but there may be some discomfort afterwards you're insane you signed the contract it was all there in black and white you agreed to it but i didn't read it that's your fault not ours the technician interrupts stacey holding down while i administer the anesthesia we really don't have the time to waste the orange-shirted smile a lumber's over and I keep my eyes trained on her keys. Her manicured hands dig into my arms and my heart races ever faster. The key. I've got to get the key.

She puts all her weight into me, her sickly sweet breath puffing in my face, her white teeth wide in front of me. I thrashed my head forward, clashing with her jaw. She fumbles backwards, holding her face and my hands shoot for a side. With a second pair of hands claw into my back.

With adrenaline-fuelled rage, I push backwards and slam the technician into the wall. The keys. The staff member kneels on the floor, holding a face as blood drips through her fingers. With one almighty kick, I send a reeling, and the sound of the technician getting up rings out behind me.

Before I'm able to think, and before he's able to yell, the keys are in my hand, and I'm fumbling them against the lock. Move hands, move. In my peripheral vision, is the balding man approaching, and the key clacks into place just as he reaches out of hand. I slammed the door behind me, locking it.

The two remaining staff members don't have time to react, and I lock them away too. The door is at the end of the hallway. I sprint towards it as Ramirez's words echo in my head. Once you go through that door, there is no going back. I thrash my hands against the metal bulghead once I notice the lack of handle. It must open from the outside, from the customer's side. There has to be an exit. They must.

How else will the staff get out? I could wait for the customers to come in when Lisa comes to see what they have done. But what if another customer comes through, staff in tow? No, I have to get out now. There must be away. I notice a keyhole in the bulkhead and try the key in hand to no avail. All I can do is check the rooms one by one. Surely one of them must have the right key.

Room 4. That's where I was supposed to go. Let's start with room 1. Nowhere better to start than the beginning. I test a cold metal handle. Unmacked? The first thing that hits me is the smell. Rotting meat.

The room is decorated like an abattoir, stark white and freezing cold, with cruel metal hooks on the walls. On each one is a carcass. Pigs, cow. chickens and something else. It is limp, skinless, vainy, its head missing, and it looks almost hollow.

But something deep in my mind knows exactly what it is, and what it was. The desecrated lump of flesh is wrong. Not just morally, it feels factually wrong. I'm not supposed to see this. No one is. Mr. Davis, middle-aged, they brought him in first.

I leave and close the door behind me. All that matters is getting out, finding the key. Still, I lock the door. He shouldn't be on display like that. Room number two. I try not to consider what could be inside. No use breaking twice. The door creaks open, and this time the sound strikes me first.

Crying. Small, pathetic sobs. Jack Amos is restrained in a straight jacket wire criss-crossing through red holes around his mouth His eyes tear into me A mix of hatred and terror I scan the room as quickly as I can No key

I lock the door I want to help him But there is nothing I can do I don't want to keep that image in my mind So I keep it permanently out of sight And out of ear shot Thank God for the soundproofing What's behind door number three?

I think in the voice of an over-excited game show host. I have to laugh. If I don't, I don't know if I can carry on. I try to recount who it will be next. Who is the next person to go through the doors? I remember, and this one is particularly abhorrent. But I have to get the key. All that matters is the key.

When I open the third door, it isn't the smell or the same. sound, but the image that stops me my path. I could recognise that pink bow anywhere. She was lying in a bed, a bed fit for a girl her age, and it would be almost peaceful if her head wasn't backwards and a skin covered in wounds. It seems her father is an exorcist fan. Her key sits on the bed in front of the girl. I take it and close the door behind me, locking away my guilt.

I have the key, but the ridges of fruits has turned to ashes in my mouth. No image can grasp my mind. All I see is her. I hear the door at the end of the corridor begin to open, and I look at my escape. And I just sit in place, outside door three, and sob.