CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I Signed Up to Work in a Fire Lookout Tower. But I Can’t Explain What I Saw" Creepypasta

Episode Date: June 16, 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 web" ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher, and...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creepypasta  ►"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

Around five years ago, I started gravitating towards jobs that made solitude a requirement instead of a consequence. Just after finally accepting that I was an introvert. I tried wildlife surveys, a forestry internship, and even worked private fire mitigation one summer before this gig found me. It's how I ended up at my post on the northern edge. Tower 9 The government, or whoever owned this place, refer to it as a conservation perimeter or some other empty phrasing.

What it really was, though, was a swath of wilderness too big and too wild for anyone to trust leaving alone. The acreage stretched far enough to swallow town's hall. Thirteen fire towers covered the zone, 13 watches, if you counted us all. They called us from,

Rangers, though it was more about fire prevention than policing hikers or keeping bears away from trailheads. Most Rangers keep to their towers, but some of us made a habit of breaking the rules we decided were pointless. Technically, we weren't supposed to leave our posts without clearance, especially during the dry season. But out here, miles from the nearest supervisor, the rules didn't mean much. Logan worked out in Tower 7, which sat a good few miles east. He didn't talk much about where he came from. He'd nod through most of a conversation, say something dry under his breath, then go quiet again.

But he was solid. We didn't hang out often, but sometimes we'd meet halfway between towers, trade supplies, pass a flask and sit in silence. I liked that about him But not everyone was like Logan Ezekiel worked out of Taur 8 The closest one to me And he'd been there longer than anyone Every Ranger I asked

Gave me a different answer About how long he'd been around Some said five years Others said 20 I knew only this He never left Those were the only two towers that were within reasonable trekking distance. The other towers sat so far away, the only interactions I ever got with them was through the radio.

Winter rotation was optional. Most of us rotated out during the snow season, took breaks, went home, let the off-season crew handle things. But Ezekiel stayed through all of it, year after year. Supposedly, he'd signed some agreement with the time. the agency to maintain permanent watch. I'd only spoken to him twice. Both times were uncomfortable. The first time, I passed him on the ridge while heading toward Tower 6.

I didn't say anything to him, and I felt bad about it. But Logan had told me so much creepy stuff about Ezekiel that I almost didn't even want to speak to him. He didn't say anything either, until I was nearly past and asked me, if I'd seen anything strange on my way. I said I hadn't, and he just looked away and seemed to be focused on something else entirely already.

He wasn't warm, far from it, and I didn't really like spending too much time around him. My first winter in the tower wasn't forced on me. I asked for it. The agency gave me a pay cut, and in short I understood the response time would be a joke if anything went wrong, but I signed off anyway.

I was starting to really like this job. Once Logan cleared out, the ridge went dead quiet. His tower light stopped flickering across the tree line in the evenings. That left me and Ezekiel. I didn't think about it much. I just focused on the scenery.

The forest itself had no straight edges. It was hills and valleys stitched together by frozen creeks. Snow blanketed the evergreens early that year. Most of the smaller trees had dropped their leaves already, and the taller ones stood out black against the white. Wind carved up the snow into low spines that looked like frozen wakes, as if something had swum through the powder and disappeared. I was out near the edge of my patrol line.

When I saw it, the light had shifted into that flat winter amber that makes shadows long and deceptive. I'd been inspecting some of the brush piles left behind by the firebreak crews. The wind was quiet and the trees barely moved. Then, a break in the whiteness. It was too far off to sea clearly, but it looked like a large deer limping. I don't mean walking unevenly. I mean dragging itself forward and slow, halting burst, like one of his legs didn't want to follow.

My first instinct was the stay putt. We're told not to interfere with wildlife. If an animal dies, it dies. We aren't rescue. But I hadn't been out here long enough to be numb about animal suffering. I stood there for a minute, staring across the slope. The sky overhead was clear.

Visibility wasn't bad. I could see the shapes of the trees for a few hundred yards before they disappeared behind a ridge. The animal had crossed into a shallow trench and left a trail behind it, a broken red line bleeding into the snow. I figured I could follow it for a bit and see if I could help it somehow.

I wasn't even sure how. but I knew it had stay in my mind. If not, I could at least make sure I didn't go down in some ditch where nothing would find it until spring. I checked my belt. My radio was on. My coat was zip tight. I still had enough daylight to get back if I moved quick.

I started walking. The snow had only started falling the night before, so it was easy to see the fresh marks. but the tracks were off. I've seen deer prints plenty of times, and these didn't match. They were larger, for one thing, and they weren't symmetrical. The spacing between them seemed wrong, longer than a deer should have been able to manage with a limp. I stopped to examine them several times, crouching down to touch the edges.

Some of them looked melted around the sides, as if the heat. heat had softened the snow when they formed. An injury may be, a birth defect. I kept moving forward. The blood trail dipped into a shallow drainage basin where the trees thinned out. I followed it between clumps of dead brush and saplings half buried under snowdrifts. The wind began to shift while I walked. I felt it before I heard it. Sharp. Low, funneling down the slope like something alive. The clouds hadn't warned me. The sky had stayed open and glassy above the treetops.

But within seconds, the snow came driving in sideways, fine and fast. The shift was absolute. One moment, I could still see the trees standing in soft ranks ahead of me. Then, without buildup, they disappeared. Wind slammed through the trees and pulled the temperature down so fast my fingers ate through the gloves. I stopped walking, turned a slow circle. Everything I'd used to orient myself, tree formations, ridge lines, even the slope under my feet, vanished beneath a layer of rushing white.

I squinted through the sudden torrent. The trail had disappeared, so had everything else. I looked behind me. Where my bootprints had been only seconds ago, there was nothing. The snow had sealed them up as if I'd never walked there at all. My first thought was the find higher ground. I turned around and took two steps, then stopped again. I couldn't see anything I recognised.

Even the sound of my own steps felt swallowed by the wind. It wasn't that I couldn't tell which direction I'd come from. I had no idea which direction anything was anymore. I reached for my radio and keyed it. Tower 9 to anyone on frequency. Come in. Nothing. Repeat, this is Tower 9. Whiteout conditions.

Need triangulation or direction assist. Anyone reading this? Silence. I lowered the brain. radio, I tried to listen past the storm to find some auditory landmark that might give me a clue. Still, there was nothing except wind tearing across the snow and the occasional snap of overburdened branches breaking underweight. I started walking again.

I kept my bearings tight, using small trees as markers and moving slowly, hoping to recognize some formation or shape that will confirm I was looking. looping back toward familiar territory. I paused again and took a long breath. My breath fogged up the inside of my hood. I adjusted the drawstring, tried to calm the pounding in my chest. Getting lost out here wasn't new. Every ranger did it at least once.

I kept walking. Minutes passed. I couldn't tell how many. Then I saw something on the ground ahead. It was the deer, or what it looked like one. I approached slowly, expecting it to jolt up the way wounded deer sometimes do when you get too close. But it stayed still, half buried in the snow, ribs rising in a sharp curve, one hind leg twisted off to the side at an unnatural angle.

The closer I got, the less it made sense. I stopped 10 feet away and stared. Its head was all wrong. At first glance, it resembled a deer skull, long and narrow, with patches of fur frozen stiff across it. But the face had lips, thin, cracked lips, stretched back over teeth, almost human. Its neck bent upward in a way no animal spine should have allowed. antlers or something like them jotted out in short nubs from either side of its skull, but they had branching ends that looked almost sculpted.

Its torso heaved, slow and unsteady, and I realized it was still breathing. I took one step back, then another. My boots sank into the snow. I tried not to make noise. its eye turned toward me, singular, strikingly human, and its body convulsed. A paw shot forward from beneath its torso. Not a hoof, not a deer leg.

A bear's limb, thick and matted with fur, punched into the snow and dragged the rest of the body forward as it rose. It stood half upright, something between a man and a beast. Then, it lunged. I dropped my radio and fell sideways into the snow. Its claws grazed the sleeve on my jacket, tearing the fabric but missing the flesh. I rolled backward and kicked at its ribs, but its weight bore down fast. It snarled, wet breath blasted against my neck. The smell made me gag.

I noticed then a massed. passive bleeding gash on its side. Quickly, I grabbed a branch off the ground, snapping it from the ice. I drove it into the thing's injury. It made a deep, choking noise and reeled back, landing hard. I scrambled to my feet and ran. I pushed through snowdrift and tree trunks, branches tearing at my clothes, breath heaving through my throat. My legs went numb from the cold.

but I didn't stop. I ran until my lungs burned and the wind was a wall against my chest. I didn't even realize where I was until I saw the structure through the white. Thin metal legs extended upward into the mist, too straight to be natural. I recognized the silhouette immediately.

A tower, Ezekiel's tower. Somehow I had looped west I didn't waste time. I found the staircase and started up. My boots barely gripping the ice-licked metal. I knocked when I reached the top. No answer. I knocked again, harder this time.

Nothing. I pushed the door open. The warmth hit me first. A weak orange glow flickered from an old stove in the corner. The windows were covered in thick, mismatched curtains. blankets and firs were piled around the walls. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, my fingers trembling. I didn't realize how cold I'd been until the heat hit my skin.

Then, I looked around. I'd never been inside a Zekyll's tower. I didn't know anyone who had. The space was packed with things that didn't belong in a lookout, wall to wall hooks and shelves cradled with weapons rifles line the east wall handguns rested in open crates ornamental carvings marked every one of them ruins letters i couldn't read lines and circles scratched into the stocks and barrels several of the bullets were laid out across the table under the window their surfaces glinting like silver or some other precious metal dream catchers hung in the corner corners, animal schools rested on ledges, each of the forehead marked with red wax or ink. I backed away from the table and sank into a low chair near the stove, trying to catch my breath. My chest ached. I leaned forward, resting my arms on my knees.

Then I heard the stairs creaking outside. I immediately thought of that thing. My first thought was that it had tracked me down and now I had nowhere to actually go. I raced above the wall for one of Ezekiel's guns when the door opened behind me and Ezekiel stepped inside. His coat was dusted in snow, his gloves were off. He shut the door and looked over at me with no surprise.

I looked at him, dumbfounded, my hands resting on one of the rifles, still attached to the wall. I, uh, Ezekiel, you won't believe me, but... You saw it, he asked. I opened my mouth, trying to explain, but he cut me off before I could finish. Was it injured? I nodded.

Good, means the trap worked, he responded. After a brief silence, well he said at last since you already saw it he turned and met my eyes the corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been a grimace it can't be helped now he walked across the room with a slow certainty of a man who knew where every board creaked he moved past the stove past the table with a bullet and stopped in front of a tall shelf near the corner his hands high hovered momentarily, then landed on a thick, water-waped book, bound in leather, and marked in strange faded lettering. He pulled it free, thumbed through the pages, and found what he was looking for. I am sorry, though, he said, not locking up. I hadn't let one slip in in over a decade.

Maybe I am getting old. The pages made a dry sound as he turned them. It's smart, Isaicole muttered, eyes scanning the page. Real smart. See, some people think it's three creatures sewn together. Some think it's one thing splitting apart into three. He turned the book toward me. The illustration on the page looked too exact to be guesswork.

Antlers, human faces, claws from something simian or bear-like. Its body was sketched mid-motion. He looked at the page, then back at me. You're lucky it was wounded. Would have killed you otherwise. He snapped the buck shut and slid it under his arm. Then he crossed to another shelf. His hand moved quickly this time,

grabbing a flat circular object wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped it and held it out to me. It looked like a mirror, but the surface was darker than glass. more reflective than metal. The edges were edged with symbols, and the reflection it gave back felt delayed. Take it, he said. I didn't move.

He held it closer. You're coming with me. You know where it was last. I need you to take me there. I stared at the mirror, then at him. You think I want company. I'd rather do this alone. One man would have trouble taking it down.

Two should make it manageable. He let go of the object. I caught it, cradled the weight of it in both hands. You're part of this now, whether you want to be or not. After that, Ezekiel briefly explained the plan to me. I was to be a distraction since I held its scent, and it saw me as its prey. I was to point the mirror toward it, leaving it frozen. just long enough for Ezekiel to take it out.

Ezekiel put his coat back on and grabbed a large tool, will look to be a crossbow from the wall, and motion for me to move in front of him. I obeyed. The snow had slowed, though only slightly. By the time we set out, the wind still bit through the treetops, and the sky hung low above us, dull and thick, but it wasn't a full whiteout anymore.

We moved downhill, cutting through what was left of my trail. Ezekiel walked with purpose, one hand gripping his crossbow, the other steadying himself along exposed trunks and roots. He didn't speak much, except a nod when we hit terrain he recognized from my descriptions. I stayed in front of him, scanning every branch, every path of snow that looked uneven. I wasn't sure if the thing had kept moving. after it attacked me. I wasn't even sure it could bleed out.

That was the problem. I didn't know anything about what it was or how we were going to take it out. We found the place after 30 minutes of trudging. It wasn't far from the tower. I'd run further than I realized during the panic. The snow and the clearing was broken and stained, dark veins criss-crossing through it

in wild spirals. Ezekiel moved to the centre, crouched down and studded the ground. He shifted the snow gently, brushing away the surface to expose the soil beneath. I get thinking about whether I could actually do this, whether I'd freeze if it showed up again,

whether he'd see it in my face. He looked over his shoulder at me. Keep your eyes open. It hit us without warning. One second we were standing in silence, and the next the trees exploded into motion. Snow burst upward as a massive form barreled out from the gully to our right. Ezekiel spun, raising his weapon, but the thing was faster. It slammed into him before he could aim.

The crossbow flew from his grip and skidded into the trees. Zekiel hid the ground hard. I froze for a moment. The creature loomed over him, its shape warping in place when muscle met hide, one shoulder twitching as if it had too many limbs packed into too little space. Its breathing was aggressive. It was angry.

His jaw stretched open as it stared at Ezekiel. Its eyes were set wide across his head, mismatched in shape and size. Ezekiel tried to reach for something at his belt, but the beast slammed its elbow across his chest. I heard something crack. I ran toward them and kicked hard into the thing's exposed flank. My boot landed near the wound I'd seen earlier.

The creature shrieked and stumbled sideways. I fell back and grabbed Ezeko by the arm, but he was too heavy to move. His legs didn't respond. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His hand finally twitched and pointed. Toward the crossbow. The creature's body shifted as it rose.

Bones stretched, fur slowed off in clumps, revealing muscle underneath that pulsed visibly. It looked at me, then had Ezekiel. It growled a low noise that vibrated in my chest. Move, Ezekiel managed the painful shout. I backed up, raised the mirror, and held it in both hands.

I had forgotten I still had it until then. The creature looked directly into it and stopped moving. Its head tilted, its limb slackened, the snarl faded from its face. For a moment, it simply stood there, frozen. I lowered the mirror and dove for the crossbow.

My hand wrapped around the grip, fingers clumsy with adrenaline. I turned back toward it and brought the weapon up. I hadn't fired one in years. The trigger felt unfamiliar. The bolt was already loaded. I aimed. Then hesitated. I only had one chance and if I missed.

It blinked and the spell broke. The creature launched forward again, this time angling toward Ezekiel. His hands went up weakly to defend himself. I quickly inhaled and pulled the trigger. The bolt sank deep into the creature's ribs as it twisted mid-motion. It shrieked, a horrible noise that shifted in pitch halfway through, as if several voices were laid beneath. it. Its body staggered, then shimmered. The edges of it began to thin, stretching outward like smoke

caught in a reverse wind. It disappeared. The clearing was silent again. I looked over. Ezekiel was slumped against the trunk, his coat soaked through with blood. He gave a dry, hoarse chuckle and shook his head. Not bad, he coughed. It was at that moment that I wondered if a sequel would ever need help again. After all, he was getting old.