CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I was born with a runaway heart" Creepypasta

Episode Date: June 7, 2020

TIP THE AUTHOR► https://www.buymeacoffee.com/magpie.q...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by magpie_quill: 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►Mark Skelton: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/dOg1wSUGGESTED 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-

I imagine it as a balloon, loosely tethered by arteries and veins, to the hollow cavity the doctors discovered in my chest. It's invisible and intangible, but I can feel it beating, keeping me alive. When I was small, they did many tests on me, but the state and location of my heart eluded all medical scrutiny. The doctors couldn't see anything in an X-ray or MRI scan, much less explained to my horrified parents how their little boy was still alive and how they could feel a pulse in his wrists. They kept theorizing that I didn't have a heart, to which I told them I did. Right here,

I said, pointing to the empty air to the right of where I felt my ghostly heart floating, swaying in the draft coming from the air vents and beating a steady rhythm. When I passed my hand through it, I felt a small warmth echo in my chest. It's floating right here. like a balloon. X-ray scans of the empty air predictably revealed nothing. I grew up a sickly boy, pale and fragile,

and never allowed to move the way I wanted to. The further my heart strayed from my body, the colder and weaker I felt. If I ran too fast, I could feel my heart lag behind me until its strings pulled taut, making me dizzy and short for breath. If the car I was in lurched too far,

I choked and felt my car, consciousness flicker. On my first day of kindergarten, the teacher tried to pull me away from my parents as they waved goodbye, and my heart clung to my mother so tightly that I only made it a few painful steps before keeling over to the ground, lost to the world in a death-like sleep. I remember vaguely hearing the sound of screaming and the wail of an ambulance. Despite the ever-present concern from my parents and my doctors, I learned to live with my strange balloon heart and figured out ways to go about my days as normally as I could. Some of my teachers in elementary school were call me precocious, but I was only independent

because I needed to be. When I carried myself with self-confidence and a degree of comfort in my own body, my heart followed me more readily and I rarely had repeats of incidents like the first day of kindergarten. That's not to say I was a solitary kid. I welcomed side effect of having self-confidence was that the people around me could look past my ashen face and bony limbs. I made friends who were half curious and half in awe of my invisible balloon heart. In the innocent way little kids are when they really haven't learned to be concerned or sensible about their friends' strange illnesses. They walked to the playground with me during recess because they knew I couldn't handle running too fast. And when Rex, the fifth grade bully

shoved me in the hallway and yelled vampire boy, they quickly intercepted and threatened to call the hall monitor. In short, I found my way around and was fortunate enough to meet people who accepted me. I worked out often and tried to live a healthy lifestyle to make up for my ever present tremor at the tips my fingers. I learned to drive and then learn to ignore the angry honking behind me whenever I accelerated too slowly for their liking. Last summer I graduated from high school and, though my heart wasn't too happy about it, I said goodbye to my family and friends and moved away for the first time to go to college halfway across the country. My parents worried about me at first, but I assured them I could keep myself safe.

In the following spring, I fell in love. She sat two seats away from me in our chemistry lecture. If I was cold and sickly, then she was like the sun, warm and red. radiant and full of life. Her fiery red hair tumbled in tussled curls and a mischievous smile was spattered with faint golden freckles.

When I first saw her, my heart instantly picked up in a quickened beat. When the lecture was over and we stood up to leave, I discovered that I couldn't move away from her. My heart wouldn't let me.

It skipped impatiently, hovering as close to her as it could get, keeping me locked in place until she passed me by and started walking towards the exit of the lecture hall. Then I felt a shock of vertigo as my heart skipped ahead of me and yanked me toward her. It wanted to get to her. It needed to get to her. I lurched forward and my heart kept tugging at me impatiently,

like I was some sort of dog on a leash. I stumbled after it, desperately hoping the pulling would stop after the redhead girl left a lecture hall, after she exited the building, after she walked through the crowded plaza and into the street. It didn't. I walked as inconspicuously as I could,

but I was sure people around me could tell I was following the girl without her knowledge. When we walked down three streets and the crowds thinned to the occasional passerby and she still hadn't noticed me tailing her, I reached out to my side and grabbed the street lamp out of sheer determination not to unwittingly stalk her all the way home.

The painted steel bar was a shock of cold against my clammy fingers, and, not a second later, I found my heart yank harder against my chest. A sharp pain surged through my body. My vision flickered, and I choked. My head spun. The girl kept walking. My heart kept pulling, like it was determined to follow her or kill me trying. black spots trickled to the edges my vision.

Please, I coughed with the last of my breath. Please stop. Miraculously, the red-headed girl paused. She looked around and then looked at me, as if she wasn't quite sure if I had been addressing her. Her records seemed to flicker like ferrolights, and then I felt my knees buckle. When I collapsed, I couldn't feel anything but the cold.

Empty black. When I came to, she was sitting next to my hospital bed, looking at me with concern in a bright blue eyes. When she saw me stir, she lit out a small sigh and sat back in a chair. Geez, you were starting to scare me there, she said, with more enthusiasm than I could have expected. Then she sat forward again and peered at my face. The doctors say you've got no heart. What's the deal with that?

I I have a heart I stammered taken aback by a straightforwardness It's I reached out to point at it Then I realised she would think I was pointing at her At her chest

Slightly to the left inside a ribcage Where her own heart would be Where I felt my invisible balloon heart hover Nestled like a kitten next to hers It felt warm I lowered my hand It's a long story. A nurse came in and I gave him my doctor's letter,

the one that explained everything my doctors from home knew about my condition. The nurse left for a while, came back in, asked me some questions, took my pulse and blood pressure. After a while, the red-headed girls stood up. I need to get going. You'll be okay, right? My heart sank, quite literally. and as she stood up I almost cried out for her not to leave

but before I could get the words out she turned to me and smiled I'll be back in the evening after class those words were a miracle cure I felt my heart relax and flowed back towards me finally her name was Leela and she became half my life

even after I was discharged from the hospital she stuck by my side and helped me walk We met up with each other on the way to and from campus In our chemistry lecture hall at the cafe after school In the student lounge of a dormitory My heart was happy, pressed up against hers And when I was by her side It felt more alive than ever

I could have been mistaken But I felt a bit of warmth and colour Return to my cheeks as we grew closer by the day We spent moonlit evenings on the roof And danced under the stars We laid in the grass in lazy afternoons And kissed in the summer rain Whenever she parted with me

I asked if I would see her again Her smile and nod were all my heart needed To return to me Last Saturday was Valentine's Day And I was going to bring her flowers I was walking down the plaza I had roses in my hand And a handwritten card in my pocket

I first heard the ruckus And the police sirens and didn't bother to look but then the people walking in front of me moved and I saw the broken glass shattered across the street and the ambulance parked at the intersection my pulse quickened like my heart somehow already knew what had happened before I could try to get a better look

before I could even see the blood on the ground or spot the streak of fiery red hair hanging from the stretcher my heart leapt out of my chest and yanked me forward twisting in pain and leaving crimson rose petals fluttering to the ground behind me It was an accident, someone was crying. It was an accident. I didn't mean to, oh God.

Sarin's wailed and people shouted, but before anyone could get it to the hospital, Layla was dead. Layla's funeral was attended by few. Just a family and a half-dozen friends. She must have talked about me, because they seemed to know who I was. We gathered and watched as the pole-bearers

lowered her small wooden wooden house. casket into the ground. I cast the withered remains of my roses into a grave and watched the soil piled up on its leaves. When the service was over, Layla's mother asked if I would join her family for the evening. Before I could answer, my heart gently took me back towards Layla's grave. I think I'll stay, I said. Just, just to say some things I never got to say to her. She nodded And soon I was left alone In the small cemetery

As soon as the last car disappeared around the bend My heart tore me from my spot And threw me onto my knees At the foot of Layla's grave I grasped and clutched at my chest I know I whispered

Tears streaking down my cheeks I know I'm hurting too I could almost hear it crying The old trimmer returned to my hands and my body felt as cold and heavy as stone. We sat there and mourned until night time fell around us. Then, unexpectedly, I felt my heart begin to pull me again.

Instead of making me walk like usual, it sank straight into the earth. The cold, damp soil that chilled my bones and made me shiver. I squatted down and leaned toward the ground, and finally just flatten myself against the earth. But my heart wouldn't stop putting it. me downwards. It wanted to get to her. Stop, I whimpered. It pulled harder. The strain grew from a gentle pressure in my chest to pain. I felt beads of cold sweat on my back. Stop it, I groaned. Stop it, she's gone. It didn't stop pulling. Soon I was dizzy with pain, gasping for breath in the cold,

musty air coming up from the soil. Please stop. You're killing me. My heart didn't listen. It didn't seem to care. I clawed at the dirt and my fingers dug into the earth easily. Soft, wet soil that was packed down just this evening. My heart pulled me harder.

It wanted to see Leila. It needed to see Leila. She was half my life, my warmth and my light. Buried, six feet under. My shaking hands dug up a handfuls of dirt and cast them aside, faster and faster and faster, until my mind blurred and time lost its meaning, and my only cohesive thought was that I had to survive.

Bit of silt stung the soft skin underneath my fingernails and jagged stones cut into my palms. But that pain was nothing compared to the growing tension in my chest, forcing me deeper into the earth, threatening to kill me if I didn't obey. I swear I only wanted to live. I swear. I know that it must be hard to believe that I'm sane,

considering you found me in the graveyard, cradling the corpse of Kayla Kinley and crying into a dress. I know that a family must be repulsed beyond measure and that a friend would loathe me for defiling her like this. I know that. I know that when this story goes public, some people out there will point fingers and say I did it because I don't have a heart

literally and figuratively but I do please believe me when I say I do I can't move much in this prison cell but my heart tries to pull me towards her even now one of the guards told me earlier today with a look of distaste in his eyes

that Layla's family was going to cremate a body and scatter her ashes in the wind so that people like me couldn't find her ever again. Since then, I can't move away from my door. My heart is trying to yank me out of my cell, but this isn't the loose soil in the cemetery. My body is weak and my hands are shredded and I can't dig my way out to prison.

I wonder if I'm going to be let out. Honestly, I'm not sure what I'm more afraid of. Pleading my honesty when no one believes me until my heart tears free from my body and I finally drop dead on the floor of my cell, or being released into a world where Layla has been turned into a million specks of dust carried by the breeze into the clouds, into streams and rivers, into the lungs of oblivious pass-a-byes. My heart intends to find all of her and bring her back into my arms.