CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I suffer from terrible migraines. My uncle wants to drill a hole into my head" Creepypasta

Episode Date: September 21, 2021

AUTHOR'S SUBREDDIT► https://www.reddit.com/r/IcyHorrorCol...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Wings_of_Darkness: 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►Anngelica Parent: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Z5...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-

It had taken over a year of drawn out court cases and relatives who didn't want me around after the death of my parents, before I was finally accepted and sent to live with one of my uncles. Uncle Stephen was someone I'd not seen for years prior. He was a big man, strong from his farmwork, with dark black eyes and a few strands of hair on his balding head, that he always covered with a grey cowboy hat. His nails were dirty, and his favourite red flannel shirt stained with years old mud. But he still exuberated the same friendly, joyous personality, as he helped me unload my luggage onto his truck. The last time I remember personally meeting him was at my 12th birthday party.

My dad didn't like him around, because it was always weird. But he was fun to be around, and he still wrote me a card through the mail every birthday. It was no surprise, he was the only one of my stingy relatives to take me in. Even so, despite him being the better choice than any of the other idiots that I had to call my family, I had a deep nervous feeling when his truck pulled into what he called, his homestead, and through the grimy dirt-speckled windscreen, I saw an old, run-down wooden farmhouse. The brown paint on its walls were faded, the windows were caked with dirt and sand, and parts of the roof had fallen in and were hastily patched up with boards.

fences made of rusty metal surrounded the house through overgrown grass and weeds and wires hung haphazily leading towards the house and the various nearby sheds only about half the lights strung up seemed to be working

now only a four-star hotel Uncle Stephen chuggled as he saw my expression I gave him a nervous grin in return well it wasn't the best place but I would probably get used to it eventually Uncle Stephen gave me quick tour of the house, through the kitchen filled with shelves of jars of nuts and seeds

and various other foods, the bedrooms which seemed all right, and the mouldy toilet, which made me regret my existence. He then brought me along to the outside, the wooden rotten floor creaking as we walked, and showed me the shed where he sought most of his tools and equipment needed for farm work. From the shed emerged a tall but thin young man in grey clothes, staring at me with beady eyes and licking his crooked teeth. You must be Jennifer. He stretched the hand out, which I shook. His hand was bony and cold.

This is Junior, one of my nephews. I took him in when his parents abandoned him, and now he suffers here too. Uncle Stephen grinned, with Junior shaking his head in his aspiration. Giving him a goodbye wave, Uncle Stephen quickly brought me down to the trailer, about 200 metres from his farmhouse. I was surprised to find it in relatively good shape. It was rusty and one of the windows was cracked, but it had been freshly painted white and green.

The lights were all in working condition and the grass around it was trimmed. This is where the neighbours live. They're all nice people, Uncle Stephen told me. Mr Sullivan was a small hunched man, obsessed over Confederate Civil War models or Mrs. Sullivan was a tall Mexican woman,

who looked like she could bench-press me and glared at me in silence the entire time. So, I seriously questioned Uncle Stephen's definition of nice. They had an elderly mother, face cracked and wrinkled, who sat motionlessly in a wheelchair facing the television, not even registering my presence. Lastly, I met the daughter, Adriana, a cute young woman my age,

with piercing's brown eyes and rough, hard, warm hands that I shook. Uncle Stephen whispered to me that she did half the work of the family noticing the worn boxing gloves hanging in the door to a bedroom and made a mental note not across her we left the trailer as the sun was setting

casting a gorgeous orange backdrop to a series of dilapidated houses and trailers in the distance corrugated metal and rotted wood strewn in piles from collapsed walls and supports Uncle Stephen's nose wrinkled when I asked him what it was where people used to live

Never go in them It's unsafe Why is it unsafe Can't you see how bad it looks The roof will drop in your head He had a point They looked as stable as a house of cards Once we reached the farmhouse

Uncle Stephen gave me the rundown of rules The usual no going out at night No drinking unballed water Like I would No television at times he wanted to watch them And a curfew but then he pointed at the set of rusty padlocked basement doors at the side of the house. No going in there, ever, he warned.

He got some corpses in there, Uncle Stephen. I raised an eyebrow. Yes, yours, if you go down there. He ran a finger across his neck. I laughed and nodded to his demand. Sure, everyone needs secrets. It took me a few months to really adapt to a more rural life. but it wasn't really too bad.

I wasn't doing well at school anyway. Not really my thing. My fear was simple. The internet connection was annoying, but still functional. Work was hard. I mostly did whatever Uncle Stephen wanted. But thankfully he was right, and Adriana and him both did a large portion of what was to be done,

leaving me a lot freer than when I was studying for college. Dinner around the bumpy metal table with Uncle Stephen and Junior was filled with jokes and jazz. from the former had everything under the sun, from politics the sports to us, and strange little comments about government cover-ups from the latter. Sometimes we would all watch the air-frequent television together, if there was something interesting on. Junior, like the History Channel a lot.

If there was one issue, it was that the new environment didn't help with my migraines like I'd hoped it would. Every week or so, I would wake up with a terrible pulsing pain on the left side of my head. all I could not to scream as I hid from the light, and hammered away at the side that hurt in futile efforts to release the pain. My arm would get numb from the effects of the headache, and I would just curl up into a tortured ball on my bed, blanket thrown over my head, praying it would stop. Gosh, it made me want to bash my head open or drill a hole in it just to stop the pain. Due to the mornings I spent curled up in bed, Uncle Stephen had assumed

I wasn't a morning person and would prod me about it. Finally, one day, when we were in the tool shed, I had had enough and asked him if I could go to the nearby town and get some aspirin. When I mentioned he was for migraines, his jovial face suddenly darkened as he slowly turned towards me.

Jennifer, we take headaches very seriously here, they're not just nerve pain. He said, staring a little too closely at a pair of garden cheers on the wall for my liking. I mean, it's just pain, I tried to reason. No, look, it's not as simple. When you get these headaches, it's the brainbug that has crawled into your skull.

He walked closer to me, fists clench, and eyes staring and blinking. It sits there and slowly feeds off your cerebrospinal fluid, then on your brain. Then it eats its way out, Jennifer. Come on, Uncle Stephen. If brainbooks caused all headaches, not every. Some. Fine, if they cause some headaches. We would have known by now, with all the tech hospitals have, I pointed out.

Do you go get an MRI every time you have a headache? Oh crap, that was a good point. He sighed. And I know about medicine. Didn't you drop out of med school? That means I'm half a doctor. I need to show you something. A little grin crawled back in his face from the joke,

and he walked out of the shape. beckoning me to follow. He led me right to the forbidden double doors of the basement, where he withdrew a green key and unlocked it, grunting as he pulled away the rusty metal bars that prevented it from opening. He had to get Mrs. Sullivan to help him pull the stuck doors open, which she did with surprising ease, causing a spray of brown dust in the air.

Mrs. Sullivan glared at me wordlessly before walking back to the trailer, and I nervously followed my uncle as he headed down. down the stairs into the basement. The basement air was stale, and a layer of dust that settled over the bare concrete and wood floor and table. Within here lay several old medical jars containing grey ashy powder. The light on the ceiling flickered on and off intermittently, so my uncle just switched it off and grabbed a flashlight from one of the shelves after blowing the dust off of it. He led me to the far end of the basement, both of our boots causing echoes in the silence.

shelves lit with dusty and unopened packaging for surgical gloves, masks, sterilisation kits and the like. Bizarre, but nothing that I saw that would make me banned from entry. Then we reached the far wall, and I screamed. I don't usually scream, but the sight of the illuminated shelves with a dozen human schools placed neatly on them was enough for that. The faces were destroyed, as if a bullet had shot them from the back and exploded out the front with deformed misshapen bones rising out surrounding an epicenter around their eyes or forehead

but of course there was no entry wound on the back victims of the brain bugs they lived in these houses now abandoned all got migraines the lot complained incessantly and then he got them

killed them I tried to help them to treat them I prayed to God for strength and precision, but it wasn't enough, and they passed. I tried to get out of their heads in time. His hands were shaking, and his breathing was getting heavier. I leaned in closer, observing the deformed schools.

Something was wrong. They all had at least one hole in the top of their skulls. What with that hole? I chapped my finger towards it. I had to make one to try get the bug brain out, Jennifer. He said, I was nonchalantly. You made a hole in their heads while they were alive?

I gasped. It's called trepination. People survived it all the time. I just had to do a rush job version of an emergency like this. He tapped his head with a finger, looking directly at the top of my head. Pressing my fingernails directly into my palm in an attempt to steal my nerves

and try to find a counter-argument. I've had migraines before this for most of my life. Sure, and then you got him when you came here. Did you drink on board water? Well, no, I said. At least, I didn't remember doing it. It could just be a regular headache. Tell me if it continues, and I'll do an early operation if it does.

You mean you cut a hole in my skull? I said. He only gave me an affirming nod. Okay, this was getting ridiculous. How could he, a med student, believe things like this, and drilling a hole into my head. I started to get a nerve by the prospect of what really caused the deaths of those poor schools on the shelves behind me. But Uncle Stephen really wasn't the kind of guy who would kill someone. He seemed sane, and he was friendly to everyone. Why would a killer

be like this? And how did the skulls erupt from inside? Those thoughts plagued my mind as I stepped outside, with Uncle Stephen giving me a reassuring smile as he closed the doors behind me and locked it back up. The next few weeks I was forced to keep my migraines a secret. Without meds, the pain was unbelievable. Advice I squeezed in my temples. Vision blurring. The feeling of

stabbing agony in my skull all sent me crawling under my bed. There was a figurine of Jesus hung up on the wall and I prayed to him for it to stop. No time to be an atheist with migraines. Uncle Stephen's attitude to me was back to usual, with the

exception of some occasional frowns being shot at me when he didn't think I was looking. At night, when getting a drink in a quick attempt to avoid the dull pain in my head from expanding, I sometimes heard him in prayer inside his bedroom. Let your mercy save young Jennifer from having to ensure the brain bug, and if she does have to, give me the strength to do what's right for everyone. One more time, he would say, among other things, I headed up the stairs back to my room, tiptoeing,

up the creaky stairs. Then, I paused. The thought of suddenly waking up in the middle of the night to find Uncle Stephen drilling a hole into my head flashed into every foresight of my mind. No, no, I should talk to someone about this. But who? Junior seemed like the exact kind of person to advocate for this.

At least, I could go for a walk to clear my head. The one thing I found absolutely stunning about living out in the middle of nowhere. was the stars. Millions of gyms and jewels dotted across the night sky, the breathtaking clouds of the Milky Way cutting through the sky.

As I walked down the worn dirt road, I noticed the silhouette of Adriano walking out from the trailer, a flashlight in her hands, and a roll of cloth in her other. She walked a distance down the dusty road before she noticed me and beckoned me over before on rolling the cloth

onto the grass beside it and laying down. I walked up to her, glancing down. Good night for stargazing, she pointed up. Come, lie down with me. I could feel my cheeks getting a little hot as I lay down on the cloth beside her, staring up into the sky.

Adriana reached out, pointing out the stars to me, naming them, drawing out consolations that I struggled to spot. We talked, and thankfully my migraine was fading away this time, rather than flaring up. That would certainly have ruined the moon, but Adriana she seemed reasonable out of everyone there was. Adriana, what do you think migraines are? Just asking. I turned my head over to look at her.

My heart sank as her expression dropped as she stared right into my eyes. Jennifer, do you have one right now? No, no, no, not at all. I hurriedly lied. You have to be careful with a brain brain. that's why Abuelita can't move, she said. That didn't fit with what I saw with the skulls. Her grandma's face hadn't exploded, evidently.

Adriana must have misinterpreted my internal confusion as disbelief, because she climbed her feet and stretched her hand down. Come and see, your uncle Stephen saved her. I took her hand and she pulled me back up. She picked up the cloth and together we trudged back to the trailer, motioning for me to be silent, she pulled the door open and flig the flashlight on. The trailer's lights roll off, and I could hear Mr. Sullivan's disproportionately loud snores through the thin walls. We walked to the main sofa, where Adriana has shown a light onto a grandma who was lying down asleep on it.

Sure enough, her face seemed fine. She was going to be killed by the brain bug, but your uncle intervened and pulled the bug out from her head, saving her life. The bug had caused too much damage already, so she's like this. Adriana whispered, her face shrouded in darkness. Adriana, did you see the brain bug yourself? No, but Mama and Papa both said they have. I slowly reached my hand out to grab the flashlight, tugging added gently to let Adriana know I wanted it.

She let go and had quietly shone it on her head. White hair covered it in bushy tufts, and all seemed normal, but there it was. A circular, bold spot and the top part of a scalp. No way, Uncle Stephen actually stabbed a hole in a skull. My finger moved in quickly and lightly prodded the bold spot. For a split second, I felt a nauseating feel of skin, depressing with no bone underneath. Adriana's constricting grasps clenched around my arm.

She wasn't happy. Adriana, I whispered, there's a hole in her head to a brain. That's how he got it out. He helped her, she insisted. I breathed in deep in exasperation and horror. This was too much to handle tonight and carefully stepped my way out of the trailer and back down the dirt route. Adriana watched me from the trailer door for a while before she shut it. Over the next few days, I spotted the Sullivan's and Uncle's Stephen whispering to each other from behind the shedlot.

It was just a week later when I felt the dull pain starting in my head, accompanied by the foreboding feeling of pain in my shoulders and neck. Always a sign of a disastrously bad migraine. Okay, maybe this time it won't be that bad. I just need to go eat breakfast. That would make me feel better. After washing up, I headed down the stairs to the dining table where Uncle Stephen and Junior were having discussion.

Look who's up late again, Uncle Stephen laughed. Any longer, and I would have given your breakfast the junior. I sat heavily down on the wooden stool, trying to control my breathing as the pulsing pain began above my left eye, radiating across my head. I scarf down the eggs and toast as fast as I could, too focused on getting rid of the pain to hear whatever topic my two other family members were discussing.

It was no use. The pain didn't dull for a second, and the pressure began sharpening on my left temple, piercing pain like that of a red-hot drill blowing into my skull. The vision in my left eye began to blur, and it felt like it was getting slowly sucked into the back of my head. I grabbed my head in my hands, squeezing hard where the pain came from, but it was no use. I was only dimly aware of Uncle Stephen suddenly getting up and rushing out the front door,

as I began to moan, punching myself in the head in a futile attempt to dull the back. pain. I staggered to my feet, Juni and watching in confusion. The sunlight streaming in the windows seemed to be like searchlights. Even the shuffling of my feet and the creaky wood was magnified. The pain only spiked. A figurative metal rod was being jammed inside my skull and grinded. The overpowering feeling of

nausea rose up, and it took everything I had to stumble to the stairs and not throw up. That was when Uncle Stephen arrived of the Sullivan's. He had a chisel and a large ladle in each hand. Jennifer, we have to help you, he said as he walked in the front door. A sudden spurt of adrenaline got me to push past the pain for just a few seconds as I scrambled up the stairs and into my room. I could hear thudding footsteps behind me, the distance closing. I slammed my room shut, but before I could lock it, the doorknop twisted and Junior pushed it open.

I led out a guitar or scream and punched him right in the nose, sending him falling over. But before I could slam the door again, Uncle Stephen shoved it open. Jennifer, this is an emergency. I'm going to have to save your life. God has promised both of us saved you from the brain bug. Get the hell away from me! I picked up the glass of water on my bedside table and flung it at him. Uncle Stephen ducked under it, where it glided into Mr. Sullivan, and he came tackling me to the ground. The pain in my head disoriented me.

It felt like half my face was numb and out of commission. Soon they came to pin my limbs down, with Junior and Adriana holding my arms down as Uncle Stephen got behind me to put my head on his leg. The Lord will heed my prayers, Jennifer. You'll be safe soon. Before I could yell anything out once more, he placed the chisel at the top of my school

and began slamming it in. Piercing torment erupted from my chest. tearing scalp as he began pushing the chisel further in. I screamed at the top of my lungs, shaking and squirming at every opportunity. Adriana, stop him. He's killing me. But she only held me down harder, squeezing my left hand and staring into my face with a determined expression.

This is for your own good. This is for your own good. We're helping you get better. Just helping you to get better, she repeated. The shooting pain of the migraine only worsened with every motion of the chisel, cracking into my head. Then he would scoop school fragments out with a ladle and go again. Warm, sticky blood poured out to my rip scalp, flowing down the left side of my face. I fought and kicked, but they held through every moment. I know it hurts, but we're helping

you, Jennifer. Stop being so aggressive. Uncle Stephen smiled down at me, his tone like he was chiding a naughty kid. I pulled my right arm up. And as Junior struggled to pin it back down, his hand got too close to my face, and I immediately lashed out, snapping my jaws down on his fingers. He howled in pain as I felt his fingers snapped like twigs under my teeth. The migraine in my head worsened. It got to the point where I realized that chisling into my skull was fading away into the sheer torture the migraine was bringing.

I finally let go of his fingers as the nausea swelled up and I vomited the hot yellow chunks of undigested food all over myself. My eye felt like it was about to explode. Stop, stop, please, please, please. I begged uselessly, tears wung up, before I began to sob in terror. Almost there, you'll be better soon, Uncle Stephen said, and everyone except Junior began to coo at me.

Better soon, better soon. I let out one final scream as Uncle Stephen stabbed his chisel into my head. And the radiating pain of the migraines, pushed out towards my eye. And then, it stopped. There was the sharp pain where the chisler pierced, but it was almost non-existent as I felt the migraine just dissolve away.

Before my stunned eyes, I watched as Uncle Stephen lowered in front of me a fat pink worm, slick with fluids, bits of my brain in its jaws. See, you're safe now.