CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I Split Myself in Two" Creepypasta

Episode Date: October 13, 2020

I have a strange ache. CREEPYPASTA STORY►by CJ_Kuykendall: 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►Aaron McBride: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/yb...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-

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need to I always wanted to be a scientist, ever since I can remember. The exact field in which I was obsessed changed week to week, from paleontology to orthonology to physics to entomology. As college got closer, I settled on biochemistry. It was around the time that I was graduating from undergrad when gene editing found itself on my radar. I became obsessed, so much so that I almost flunked to my last quarter because I was so focused on learning. I was so focused on learning about viral vectors,

CRISPR, recombinant animals and bacteria. But I made it through, and now I'm in a PhD program looking at the possibilities that lie in the CRISPR-Cast-9 technology. My lab takes rats that are genetically predisposed to all manner of genetic diseases

and we try to cure them via gene editing. It's really quite simple when you get down to it, just like cutting and pasting. You clip out the bad gene with CRISPR Cas9 then either provide the body, or hope, the body repairs the cut correctly. I was working on a rat

had metastatic cancer. Dumas roiled under the thing's fur, great-growing masses that partially immobilized it. Funny thing, cancer, it's immortal. It's just doing what cells usually do, but forever, never-ending, mitosis, splitting in two to create more of itself.

That was the gene I was targeting, a gene that had to do with a mitosis that was faulty in the poor little rat. It's still hard to believe how stupid I was. How careless. I went to inject the rat with my cocktail of castline protein and nucleotides. It squirmed at the side of the needle. It squealed and bit my hand. I'm used to the nips of lab rats, but this bugger bit me hard.

It drew a bead of blood from the crook of my thumb and forefinger. I yelped and dropped the damn thing, and nicked myself with a needle. There was no way that it got in. I told myself this for days, that there was no possible way that that nick allowed any of the gene therapy cocktail into my bloodstream. So, I told no one. My mouth remained shut when I began to grow the mass under my armpit. Impossible.

It wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. No, not to me. not after all of all after all I've gone through, no, I refuse to accept it, even as the hard mass grew larger day by day. By the next Monday, it was so big I couldn't put my arm down over it, and when I prodded it, I felt nothing. It was numb, but it had gotten harder, hardest bone.

I called in sick. My professor, Jess, understood. She always did. I laid up in my bed, continuing to deny what was plain in front of me. I had given myself cancer, and it was growing so fast that I thought I'd break a world record within the week. Damn, I wish it was as simple as cancer. That day, when I called in sick, was the last good day I had.

I slept and played a video game and got some homework out of the way, but all the while I could feel the mass growing. Every so often I would prod it, coping it in my hand, I couldn't help I couldn't help but imagine myself as the white rat,

rolling with panaceous cancer. I was a goddamn science experiment. I was still able to make it till bedtime before I collapsed into a deep sleep. My dreams kept me sleepless though, and I tossed and rolled and sweated buckets in my bed.

I drank to Grandma at the end of her life, except I was in the bed and she was standing over me, still skeletal like she was at the end. You're going to be all right, Gregory, she said. Just go to God, it'll be better. When I last woke from my nightmares, my entire apartment reeked of old sweat and fear. I rolled out of my bed, still soaking from my sweat, and opened my window. Outside it was dusk.

The sun was going down. had I slept for 24 hours? What was happening to me? I checked my phone and found that I hadn't just slept for a day, but for an entire three days. My notifications were blown up with my parents and my professor. Rocks dropped from my stomach and my guts turned to water. It was worse than I thought. But then I realized that the mass under my arm, so huge on Monday, was gone. It was smooth as it was the day I pricked myself. I groped in my armpit, searching for something, anything that would betray the tumour, but there was nothing there. Just underarm hair and my lymph nodes, normal as ever. Before I could breathe for relief though, I heard a clatter in my kitchen. My apartment was not big.

It was a one bedroom, but even so, the kitchen was around a corner and I couldn't see into it from my bedroom. I peered out of my door into the living room The kitchen light was on And a shadow moved around Pulling down ingredients from my cabinets Stalking on tiptoes I grabbed my baseball bat And crept into the kitchen

The shadow moved with practice deliberate movements As if it knew where everything was As if it was home and nothing was amiss I rounded the corner A bat raised Ready to bludgeon whoever was in my apartment But when I stepped from carpet I screamed.

I screamed. What the hell? The person Me turned and looked at me Oh, you're awake The thing that was me said Everything about it was exactly the same as I was From the birthmark on the left ear

To the slight bump in the nose Where I'd broken it in a game of touch football His eyes were exactly my shirt, shade of hazel brown, its hair, its hair, the exact pallor of deep dark brown, almost black. I was in expecting you for a long time now, it said with my mouth, I made pasta carbonara. It lifted the pan and indeed revealed a perfect pasta carbonara.

Little chunks of panchetta sparse through the pasta. What are you? I breathed. My voice was not all there. I was a dog with his voice box clipped. It laughed. Don't you realise? It took a fork and spun it in the pan, scraping metal on metal, nails on a chalkboard screeching,

cutting through the damp, sweaty air. I lifted the fork to my mouth and tried to feed me. I'm you, I didn't stop to think. I swiped his hand away. The fork flew from its fingers, clattering to the floor, spreading creamy sauce all over the cabinet. I let out a raspy scream and swung the bat. It connected with an awful crack

And the thing that was wearing my body stumbled back Blood exploding out from its mouth You are not me I screamed though my voice was still weak with disuse You are not me The thing only looked up at me Smiling through chipped and missing teeth It laughed

A full belly laugh that vibrated the air Such that I could feel it in my chest You can't get rid of me It said, before spitting a bloody tooth to the floor. nerves and roots still attached. There were no more thoughts in my mind. I cocked back and hit it again and again and again and again. Each blow connected with its head

and spurred it a mist of blood each time I pommeled it into the kitchen floor. The thing skull caved in and chunks of bone and brain gave way under my bat, oozing out like a slime mold searching for nutrients. I didn't stop hammering on the thing's body until my downstairs neighbour pounded at all the noise. I stood straight up right and dropped the bat.

The ruined corpse lay asunder under the stove and the pan of Carbonara. No, no, no, no, no, no. I looked at my hands, my body, covered in viscera. I blinked and felt a bead of blood drip into my eye.

I just killed it. Whatever it was. I was crazy. I'd gone crazy. Or maybe, or maybe, a after-a-a-a-a-a-fixing myself with a gene therapy. Maybe I didn't have a lump under my arm at all. Maybe I was growing a supermassive brain tumour

that was pressing my visual cortex. Yes, that had to be it. I needed help. I needed to go to the hospital, to have someone give me a CT scan before I hurt someone, other than myself, I guess. But first, I needed to be clean. Even if this was a hallucination,

I needed the blood and brains and everything off of my skin. I stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the taps. I stripped nude and climbed into the shower, not even waiting for the water to warm. The shower floor turned thin crimson and I was reminded of times when I was a kid when I'd go take a mud bath and my frustrated parents would stick me in the shower.

Juncks of brain and bone and blood washed down the water. I gripped a bar of soap and I scrubbed. each stroke, of layers of my face and arms I ran my fingers and found a huge chunk of cartilage I pulled it out and flicked the slimy bloody thing into the shower

floor and I realised it was the thing's nose ripped and torn and leaking blood mixed with thick mucus I vomited thick bile trailed out of my mouth in an unending stream and I gagged when the smell hit my nose

It smelled like spent broth, sweet, sweet, like rotting meat. I spit, alas, getting the remainder of bile from my mouth. I felt at my mouth with water and swished, but the taste of dead eagle eye and stomach acid remained in my tongue. The shower ran cold before I was able to slow all the gore of my body. Even as I turned the water off and found myself sparkling clean, I felt filthy. I still feel filthy. I dried off, naked, to my room,

and called an ambulance. But, as I dialed 9-1-1, I felt a bump form under my armpit. No, no, no, God, no. Before I lifted my arm to look, I scrambled into my closet and found the old shoebox in my top shelf.

I fumbled with it and set it on my bed. Every second that passed, the lump grew bigger and bigger. I could feel it rubbed against my bicep as I flipped open the shoebox. -grandma's old six-eight special stared up at me. I picked it up and fumbled with the action,

trying desperately to remember how to open this cylinder. The lump pulsed and hardened under my skin and I fumbled with the gun. At last it popped open and I managed to slide three bullets into the cylinder. At that moment, pain ripped through me, throbbing and pumping out from my armpit.

I collapsed, still gripping the gun and lifted my arm. The lump pushed out and I could see the features of my face, mouthing wordless under my skin, wreathed and pulsing purple veins. I screamed as it pushed through my skin, ripping out like a newborn through its mother's pelvis. I felt it wriggled through out from under my skin, kicking and pushing and gripping with fingers and toes.

It hooked a finger in my mouth and pulled, with all it could, then like a pimple, finally giving way, and slid it out of me, and piled under the floor. The pain was so intense, I would have passed out had it not been for the search of adrenaline that course through me. I pulled myself off the floor and looked down on my newborn double, exactly like me in every way, naked and covered in a thin layer of afterbirth. He looked up at me. He told you, you can't. get rid of us. I didn't wait

I reached over and pulled the thing up by its hair and dragged it into the shower. It did not fight me. Not at all. Not even when I closed the shower curtain and stuck the gun inside. You'll just make this harder for yourself. You'll see. You'll... I pulled the trigger three times and filled the thing with the lead.

I heard a thump and a wet squeak as it collapsed in the tub. My hand and the gun came out, coated in a spray of blood. I quickly moved to the sink, washed them both off. I set the gun aside and stared at the mirror, unbelieving. I gazed at my features, every scar, every dimple, every strand of hair, every freckle. The thing that came out to me were perfect copies. They were me. I was going through mitosis, splitting and reforming as two. This was real, and There was only one way I knew to fix it.

Still wet from my shower, I slipped into a pair of sweatpants, loaded the gun and stuck it in my pocket. I went to put on a sweatshirt, but I felt the mass coming back, pulsing the life in my armpit once more. No, not again, not now. I stormed into the kitchen, stepped over the room body of the first copy. I pulled out an eight-inch chef's knife and waited with my arm raised above my head. soon my skin began to pull as the mask grew as soon as the face

I again drove the knife into my armpit I squealed at the sharp burning pain that erupted out from the knife wound I got a slash in my skin revealing the face slight jawed teeth broken from the blade's kiss

then the mouth moved I could feel warm breath hit the underside of my arm you won't win You can't win, it said, but I didn't waste time. I drove the knife in until the hot breath ceased flowing. Quickly, I dressed the wound so I wouldn't bleed all over the place and put on my sweatshirt and stumbled out of my apartment. See, I hadn't had the mutation in my genome before I'd gotten injected. The gene edit must have repaired itself all wrong and how this was happening to me.

If I could get my hands on the Castline cocktail, I had to be. could stop this. It would give my body the chance to repair the properly. It was a long shot, and I wasn't even 100% sure that any of this was real. But it was my only chance. So I walked to my lab on campus. When I got in, Jess was there. Greg! Oh my God! Where have you been? Are you okay? I looked up at her and spoke, still in my raspy, weak drawl. I'm doing great, Jeff. Yes, I just came in for...

I forgot something in the fridge. I stumbled over to the huge lab fridge and opened it. What are you talking about? Greg? Greg, what are you doing? You don't look so good. I'm fine. I didn't mean to snap at her, but at the moment something just below the mass roiled and

pinched the nerve, sending shooting agony up and down my body. I'm okay, really, I said through clenched teeth. I rummaged around in the right syringe What are you looking for, Greg? Greg! Jess pulled at my arm, but I ignored her. Bingo, I found the syringe. I shoved it in my sweatpants pocket,

then on a hunch, grabbed a few vials of can of mycine, liquid antibiotic. I twirled and shut the fridge, then pushed past Jess and out of the lab. Jess followed me the whole way out to the stairwell, screaming for me to stop, but I couldn't stop. not here. The feeling under the dead mass was growing

I felt like there was a snake, wriggling just under my skin. I reached up under my sweatshirt and groped at the gout's teeth sticking out from my skin. Then the thing's head pushed against my hand. There was another one coming, but it had to push past the dead one first. I stumbled down the stairs and ran out to the bed, building. I sprinted as fast as I could. On wobbly legs, I burst from campus into the little cobes of trees at the west edge. A creek ran through the area and the state coordinated off as a mini wildlife refuge. Birds flushed and rabbits fled as I ran deep into the woods. I pushed out

into a small clearing full of wild grass and shrubs. The pain was growing in intensity, the squirming growing ever stronger with every step I took. I collapsed and ripped to my sweatshirt. I tore it off my body and looked under my arm. The dead face was pulsing in and out, a turtle coming out from its shell. Then, at last, with a huge tearing groan, the face pushed out from beneath my skin and slopped under the ground. I watched as the skin on my side stretched and pulled and somehow did not break. The next thing squirmed up under my skin. I saw a foot kick out at my hip before another face tore through the hole in my armpit and clorriended.

and clawed's way out. But they weren't done with me. Pain continued to rich my body and I curled like a shrimp in boiling water. More lumps under my skin, doubly as big as the first, tore up through my skin. Then two faces peaked through and fought one another for escape. Hands pushed out and widened the hole and both copies slid out. My vision was going. My ears rang. I could feel my heart jumping in my throat. and I throbed. I throbed with sharp pain all throughout my body. I managed to pull the gun up level with the copies now standing over me. They just laughed.

You can't stop us now, Gregory, they all said with one voice. I shuddered them wildly, shooting until the gun was empty. Then I collapsed. Black circles closed in from the sides of my eyes, and I lost consciousness. When I woke up, still in that little clearing, still in agony. The sun had set over the horizon and the last traces of light were leaving the sky. I stood, somehow, through all the pain. My legs were gelatin, my eyes, two burning embers.

I managed to produce the syringe, bite off the cap and inject myself with a full dose of the gene therapy. The corpse of myself looked up at me, mouth wide and its face slashed in ten places. the eyeballs gouged out and weeping thick liquid down its cheek. I pulled out a single vial of canomysin and dumped it on the body. It did exactly what I thought it would. It popped. The first spot where the antibiotic touched it bubbled and grew.

Then the whole body bloated the three times its size and burst. Gray Ica spilled out into the forest floor and there was nothing left of it but a puddle. I walked home. No one paid any mind to me. When I dug the first corpse The shower the second. I cleaned the kitchen as well as I could And dumped the rest of the can of ice in on the bodies.

Days later I woke But I don't remember falling asleep And I don't remember Jess coming to my apartment And taking me to the hospital. I was put on academic probation at school Having to spend a week in the psych ward To prove I was not a threat to myself or other. When they checked my blood, they gave me

I was so relieved. They gave me a clean bill of and sent me on my way. I tried to forget what happened. Tried to go on with life as normal, albeit far more cautious with needles than I once was. And for a while, I did sort of forget. I had nightmares every night, but during the days, things were more or less normal. That is, until they found that man. Along the bike path, a cyclist found a body, a man,

had the entire left side of his body ripped apart by what authorities labelled a black bear. But I know better. My babies are reproducing.