CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I swallowed something while running. It was not a bug" Creepypasta

Episode Date: November 6, 2021

AUTHOR'S SUBREDDIT► https://www.reddit.com/r/Rick_the_Int...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Rick_the_Intern: 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►Tyler Smith: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/nPO4OSUGGESTED 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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bio-Cure Macshot liquid. Foodings Supplement forc-mire by the apoteer. Running releases endorphins in the body, dulling pain. It also produces endocannabinoids that can pass through the blood and brain cellular barrier.

It is these endocannabinoids that are likely the cause of the so-called runners-high, despite popular belief ascribing it to endorphins. I do not use drugs. Running is my drug. I use it to get by. The euphoria and karma get afterwards. I'm a junkie for it. But it's not just that.

I've come to enjoy the pain quite a lot. I live in a big city and work in a big building downtown. I've been experimenting across different legs of the city, far away from my workplace, searching out more difficult pieces of sidewalk and road shoulder. The greater the incline, the greater the pain, the greater the high. If an area is a little more secluded than the rest of the city, it's for the better.

I do not like to make eye contact with people while working out. I found an area for running with a wide but very sharply angled sidewalk and hardly any traffic or pedestrians for the city. I thought it was quite the find. I discovered it because my propensity to drive around the city after work in my gym clothes, listening to motivational gurus on audiobook, chanting there,

take every step like it's your first and last mantras while keeping my eyes peeled for a good run sight. It was, however, in the shadow of a chemical plant. Its smokestacks jabbed the air, blooms of smoke like pus coming out a wound. I wondered if that plant was the reason for so few people in the vicinity. I didn't reckon it could be dangerous to run around out there, not in this day and age,

where there were so many restrictions and seeing I was just only technically outside the city limits. Nothing was roped off. other than the plant itself, which was gated. There wasn't much else in his proximity, a couple of apartment buildings, a gas station. I parked in the lot of an abandoned movie theatre nearby and chugged up and down that bad boy,

probably the steepest, baddest hill I'd ever run, like the little engine that could. I felt like that thing was a toenail of Mount Everest. Arms and legs on fire, gut-taking from cramps and nausea, I came two miles shy of my regular, quota, and my lunch from earlier that day sprayed out into the correct pavement. But screw it, at the end of that, I'd never felt more alive.

The gated, tree-and-circle chemical plant loomed above me like the proverbial castle on a hill. I sucked air and tasted salt in the euphoria, the sweet sickness blooming in my blood-engorged brain. Three days later, I swallowed something all running up that hill. I thought it was a bug. How many of you runners out there have swallowed bugs all running? Not to mention those who swallow while we sleep. Happens too often to count. More protein, right?

I took it in stride and kept on running up that hill, even though I couldn't shake the feeling that what I swallowed had been oddly fleshy. Fleshy but airy at the same time. Almost too light to be a bug. The next day I was sick with strange symptoms. I didn't have a fever. To go with a more ordinary nausea, shakes and shivers, my depth and spatial perception were messed up in a way.

That made me think I had some neurological issues going on. Sometimes, when I reach for things like cups on my wallet or keys, I came weirdly shy of them, like my arms or hands were shorter than I remember. Or like those objects had been moved away from me when I hadn't been looking. I'd hear weird sounds coming from my stomach. not the usual digestion or stomach growling type noises, but something almost like human speech, muffled so that I couldn't be sure.

It would wake me up in the middle of the night. At times, it also felt like something was literally moving inside me. Immediately, I thought of the bug I'd swallowed while running. But how could it still be alive? I went to the doctor and had them administer tests, and I even asked for some brain scans that took a bit to set up. Those and the abdominal x-ray scans

came back negative. Nothing of concern, according to the nurses and doctor. Blood tests were all good. The doctor said it might be stressed and prescribed me some anxiety medication, which I told her I didn't need. More running was what I thought I needed

if it was stress-related. I increased my intensity out there. I didn't want to move from that hill because it was good to me. it hurt me too good. I knew I need to move to a new location sooner or later to confuse my muscles, but I was relishing it while it lasted.

The symptoms, however, got worse. New ones joined the others, such as the sensation of floating away from my body and vivid mental images I kept getting of that chemical plant. There were close-up shots of the plant, as real as photos, and areas of it I obviously had not seen. So, one day, I stayed up near the top of the hill after my run.

I climbed up another mile or so to the plant. There was a security guard hut out there with a barrier gate. I started to approach it, intending to ask the guard some questions. But I began to feel weird about it all. I stopped about ten feet away and just stood there. It seems silly. If I asked him about the chemicals that plant worked with, If you even answered me, what good would the answer do?

Will that knowledge really help me on my next doctor visit? I decided I'd come back another day if the symptoms continued. As I was walking away, however, a car that had been outside the gate parked so inconspicuously under some trees that I hadn't noticed it before, pulled onto the road and followed me down the hill. When I turned around, the car sped past me. It was a dusty old station wagon. His windows was so tinted by dust that I couldn't see inside.

The following day, I saw the same car idling outside my apartment. Someone was waiting on me. He got out, a middle-aged man in a tweed wool hat, an oversized sports coat and baggy jeans. Other than his clothing being too big for his body, he seemed like an ordinary sort of person. "'You were out near the chemical plant,' I said at a distance. "'Did I drop something out there?' "'I knew I hadn't, because I never run with anything on me other than my keys, which were in my hand. But I just couldn't think of any reason why this person will be parked outside my apartment.'

He walked closer. I fell back a few steps. "'It's all right,' he said. "'I'm not with Puck Industrial or any associated party.' I thought you might be at first. My name's Everett. I did some digging on you after following you out to your address. I hope you don't mind.

Not to worry, just a freelancing journalist looking to crack a case. What brought you to book Industrial yesterday? Did you use the work there? I wanted to tell him that I did mind and ask him where he got off thinking it was okay to follow some stranger out to his place of residence and do digging on them, whatever that digging entailed.

but I was hung up on my symptoms. Maybe he knew something about what was going on at that plant. Maybe they were connected. You interviewed the people that worked there? I said. Yeah, a few of them. They're lying. Above the table, it's one thing, but below the table.

It's another. I think I might have swallowed something, I said. Maybe something chemical related, floating out from that plant. That's why I was hanging out. near the front. I've been sick. Doctor visits haven't helped much. This case you're looking to crack. What's it about?

You swallowed something. At first I thought it was a bug. It was solid, meaty. Now, I'm not so sure. I've been running up that road towards the plant because I like the incline. Chemical hazards be damned. A bug, he said. Yeah, maybe it's a.

stung me when it went down my throat, and I'm still reacting. I described some of my symptoms. I even got into this floating away from my body sensations and flashes of that chemical plant in my head in case it was relevant to any chemical exposure. Everett growled to my elbow, pull me close. Do you know where West Egg Waffle is? That diner across from that Presbyterian church? Meet me there when you get off work today. I started to tell him when I usually got off work, but he was already entering his vehicle. That evening, I encountered Everett's unsmiling, grizzled mug staring at me through the glass of the diner. I wasn't sure if you waited on me for hours, or if you knew it exactly when I was

getting off work. Either way, I was relieved that we were in a place with a lot of people. I went inside and sat down across from him. He asked for more coffee when the waiter came. I asked for a glass of water. My symptoms aside, I didn't think I'd be in the mood to eat. Ever heard of M.K. Ultra, Everett said. He took a couple packs of sugar between his fingers and began shaking them. M.K. Ultra. Wasn't that something to do with LSD and mind control? He nodded. He began to pour the packets of sugar into his fresh cup of coffee.

During the Cold War, he said. the CIA wanted to know how easy it was to use drugs like LSD to control the human mind. They thought that to do this, they had to carve away the mind that was there and put another in its place. Before NK Ultra, Project Bluebird and Arterchoke paved the path. These programs used drugs like morphine and LSD, as well as hypnosis and advanced torture techniques, all in the name of finding the means to control people before the enemy did. MK. Ultra Director Sidney Gottlieb got leave got the US government. government to pay about a quarter of a million dollars back in the 50s to bring all the LSD in the world to this country.

That's how serious they were. This path led through Project Stargate in the 80s, categorized as having been beyond top secret. There, the CIA strove to use mind powers of psychics for espionage. Mind powers? I asked. You know, psychokinesis, telepathy, astral projection, remote viewing. They plan to use those abilities. if they were real for spying, but assassination was also on the table as a possibility.

The CIA was no strange as it trying to use drugs, toxins and poisons to alter the behaviours of and assassinate enemy agents as well as foreign leaders. So why not use psychics for those things if they could be employed in such a fashion? That's crazy, I said. Oh, it gets crazier. 1985 Enter Project Hawthorne LSD, psilocybin,

mescaline and more experimental drugs were used in aggressive combination with genetic manipulation and torture to induce and heightened psychic abilities That might have been a culmination It clearly wasn't the end, however You told me why you're out there at the plant Now let me tell you why I was

I've been on this trail for a while My uncle lost his mind not from bipolar disorder, but because of the treatment he was administered on behalf of one of those programs. He was also a criminal theft and assault,

so they really got to have their way without their bosses peering too hard. But despite his faults, some of which were beyond his control, my uncle was a good man. They transferred him to a special hospital. There they used isolation, sleep deprivation and shock treatment

to name a few. Then gave him megadosis of stimulants to bring him out of it. They'd shock him directly after administering the stimulants. It was like a hellish roller coaster of drugs and electrocution. I know these things because he tried to tell my father about them before he lost his mind. The CIA spent many years figuring out how best it destroyed people's minds, but they had a harder time attempting to install new ones. I'm sorry, I said.

He waved his hand That was back during the 1960s Towards the end of MK Ultra I was little then Just getting started in grade school But the effect it had of my father His brother was profound and lasting You are probably wondering

How this all relates to you The facility you've been running near It fronts as a chemical plant It has long had some mess of stuff going on underground So far off the books it might take a century to tread your completely into the light, unless something is done. Just what is going on out there, I said.

He took a few cups of coffee, and he glanced at the doors before meeting my gaze. We're talking about decades of genetic engineering. Drugs, torture and psychic phenomena wrapped up into one small package. Sometime between the 1980s and now, they created something diminutive, invisible to the huge, human eye and most technical equipment, and deadly as hell. We're talking about the ultimate weapons are bare in Cold Wars,

the kind you can't detect or trace. What we're talking about is the we folk. The we folk, I said. The we folk, elves, fairies, the fay. I was thinking this guy is absolutely insane. I'm sorry about his uncle, but damn. I'm pretty sure that they go back a long ways in folklore, before LSD and all that other stuff.

Of course they do, he said. Don't know the project's name, but I know enough. I just need more evidence. From what I do know, those things aren't as tied down by time as we are. I'm not certain if it was intentional, so that they could be sent backwards or ahead to other eras, or if it was an unhappy side effect. Regardless, those things aren't exactly material organisms.

Along with their human and other genetic material, they got psychic substance to them. They're small, but not so small that they can't be seen by the naked eye. It's my understanding that it's their psychic material that makes them invisible. It's their psychic material that also lets them step out of the noose of time. Maybe they can travel through it as easily as, why? I asked. Why would they want to do that? because they were directed by the CIA

because they want revenge so that they can get away from the prying gaze of technology because they can who the hell knows maybe those little buggers went back in time and created our asses closed loop and everything a couple of burly looking guys came through the front door

of the diner and settled down into a booth next to ours they were rigid and silent only breaking that to place their orders when the waiter came over They wore casual attire like outfits in costumes, probably a coincidence, but they got even me a little antsy, and I can only imagine how the conspiracy not across from me felt as he too looked over his shoulder at them one and only one time. Geppetto, Everett said to me in a low, even tone, created a puppet that he could not control. It was a puppet that might be more real than him.

Everett brought something slowly out of his pocket And for a second I thought it was going to be a weapon It was a pen And with it he scribbled something onto a napkin And a dress He took out a wad of bills And slapped them down over the napkin

It was nice seeing you again Everett said I'd like to run with you sometime Good for the health All right I said And drank my water the waiter took the money.

I stared at the ruts in the table between looking at the napkin, and about ten minutes after Everett had gone, I'd left the diner. I'd left the napkin behind, but I'd memorize the address. I could say here that I thought it more prudent to wait a day before going to that address, even though hadn't seemed to have had anyone tailing me. This was the official reason I was planning to give Everett, but that wouldn't be honest. The honest truth was that I thought the guy was too nuts to deal with.

I wasn't sure if I could believe an ounce of what he told me about his uncle. I'd memorize the address in case I needed it. The reason that I went to that address later was because the night symptoms had become markedly more severe. Some of it might have been mental. From the quaint little conversation I'd had with Everett about government conspiracies, and the jumping fair is created from drug-induced psychic phenomenon and human DNA, but I was fairly certain by then that something was moving around inside me.

My nausea and chills had grown more comprehensive, like a vile flower spreading its petals. Head over the toilet, I jabbed a finger deep into my throat to induce vomiting. I was hoping to expel whatever it was, even so many days after it should have been digested. The symptoms persisted, waxing more than waning. More frequently than before, I was sure I heard a muffled voice talking, but could no longer pinpoint the source. Sleepless, I played hockey from work that morning and went straight to the address at about 9 a.m. It was an old apartment building, only a few miles shy from where I'd been running at. The door to his apartment was ajar.

Already, it didn't bode well. I found Everett hanging upside down in his living room by wires from the light fixture, with his tongue, throat and lungs ripped out and placed in the crimson leg beneath him, written on the wall in blood with these words, Never Speak Ill of the We Folk. I spent maybe ten minutes brain-deen on the spot, like I'd been the one megadosed with opposite drugs and a lecture. electricity convulsed at the same time.

My mind tried to fold itself around that scene. It could not. I don't even remember leaving. At some point I was driving down the road, and then I was back in my own apartment. I didn't call anyone, and it wasn't really that I was afraid I'd be blamed for it. I was afraid that the government might be connected. Maybe they had killed Everett for leaking top secret information, and that was what was meant by, never seen.

speak ill of the wee folk. The more logical explanation was that a deeply troubled person like Everett, but much more dangerous, had killed him in such a way. Probably it was even someone he crossed paths and conspiracies with. I did plan on going to the authorities,

but first I had to figure out how to do so without ending up like Everett. Needless to say, I was freaked out. The nausea had from whatever was inside me was magnified many times over. Between puking while trying to shut up in my own apartment, I took in as many nutrients and liquid as I could so as to avoid a hospital visit. I woke up with terrific pain in my left eye. I got up and went to the bathroom, swaying. The pain was so intense that

I had collapsed at some point and crawled to my knees to the bathroom. I forced myself up and flicked on the light switch. In the mirror should have been my ordinary, everyday, everyday. face, but my left eye was bulging out of his socket. I screamed. I felt something there behind it, trying to press my eyeball out. It was fighting against the organic wiring behind my eye to get the job done. I realized at the same time that I was only able to look out on my other eye. For all the pain and horror that swept over me in that moment, I was afraid of this one

something more that I would somehow get a glimpse of what was pushing my eyeball out. What if it was no longer invisible to me because I'd swallowed it? I wasn't sure if it was my thought or had originated from somewhere else. I took my thumb and shakily pressed it into my bulging left eye until it was back snug in its socket. Then everything returned to normal. I could see out of both eyes again. The secession of my pain, however, was short-lived. Agony blazed across my head.

I'd heard of others with the severe migraines comparing their pain to childbirth. I felt in that moment that something was trying to rip itself free to be born from my brain. I howled sobbingly like a lion with all this teeth pulled out. I'd often caught a pain while running, but this was too much. I grabbed the keys and found,

flung myself out of the door. As I did so, images of the chemical plant began flickering in my head like an old, acid-eaten film. With each flicker was a fresh dose of pain. I whipped out my apartment and around the corner, got into my vehicle in the lot and hauled ass in the direction of the facility. I threw up into my cup holder, swerving around hunking vehicles all the while. I thought maybe if whatever it said was true there was a lab somewhere in or below that plant and they'd know how to deal with me. I was willing to sacrifice my body and freedom just to stop what was going on. The pain in my head zipped down to my throat and something giggled there like a child going down a water slide. But then I realized it was the sound of me gurgling out blood. It fountain down my lap

and dribbled against the floor mat. It greased my sandals and caused them to slide against the gas and brake pedals. I kept telling myself, I'd just had to hang on until I made it to the facility. I knew it was probably a lie, but I latched onto that anyway in order to stay focused. Once at the facility, my car ploughed through the barrier arm and rents beside the automatic gate before it had fully opened. The security guard's shout quickly receded. I wove in and out of the roads of the facility, tearing past camera.

chemical plant speed signs that read 7.5 miles per hour. I nearly crashed into a forklift as my car careened into the opening of a larger building. When I finally stopped the car, I opened the door and fell to the ground. I was covered in vomit and blood. I got back up and ran. I called out to confused-looking workers in hard hats and coveralls. I called out to the strangers that I'd swallowed something from their lab that was making a mess inside me. I was facing in and out while running.

I ran past shocked eyes, past lumps and machinery and canisters of fluid, deeper into the belly of the building, not knowing exactly where I was going. At some point my wet feet slipped out from under me and my head cracked against the floor. I crawled, weeping in the direction I'd been running. The last thing I remember is being stung in the arm and shortly after lifted onto a platform. possibly a gurney. Ages later, I was awake. I called out from the hospital bed.

No one came. I was in a hospital gown. I felt along my sore body. I found such as, and sick and only deep aches all over me. There are some gashes across my shaved head. How long ago and how deeply are they operated, I wondered. They'd done some major digging around looking for that thing. IVs were stuck into me

for nutrients, fluids and no doubt drugs but whatever drugs they'd been pumping into me had seemingly run out I brought them free with weak shaking fingers and I fell hard against the floor

more pain washed over me like a cold river I welcomed it I tried not to think about the damage I was doing to my body there was no one else in the room owning medical equipment and beds and ordinary trappings of a hospital room. But it was not a hospital.

I was surprised the door was unlocked, and met my way out into the hall. Although I didn't see anyone at first. Before long, I smelled something horrible. It was coming from an open doorway ahead. Inside was a large research laboratory rather than a hospital room. electronic equipment, old and new, was bashed and battered and mixed in with laboratory equipment in a vortex of destruction. But it was the bodies that gave off that stench.

The scientists in that room were dazed dead and reading the message on the wall helped me discern the sores of their wounds before my frayed mind could put it together. Bloody words spelled it out. Never mess. were the wee folk. It was reproductive organs this time

that were laid out near the corpses. According to Everett, human DNA had gone into making those things. I stumbled out of the dry heaving. Nothing came out. At the end of one hallway, elevator doors shone like the proverbial waters of an oasis under a desert sun.

It was bright in those hallways, nowhere for shadows. But It was scary I kept thinking something little and invisible Or maybe not so invisible If I was especially unlucky Would attack me before I made it to the end of that run

Run Is exactly what I did As soon as I saw those elevator doors My body, a damp, broken animal And ran like hell to the elevator I was gasping by the time I got on my hospital gown was soaked in the blood of open incisions I pressed the button among too many buttons for ground level

the elevator went up I gasped like I'd run many miles more than I usually did the elevator continued to go up it gave me a lot of time to wonder whatever thing I'd swallowed hadn't gotten out of the facility what if and they've been trying to get in.