CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I was the cameraman on a movie made in the dead of night" Creepypasta

Episode Date: January 6, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by doomedgeek: 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►boxoffrogs: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/J9...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-

I was fine with the indignities of old age and the dull routines of the nursing home. Until everything changed. The doctor did not darn a black cap first, but he might as well have. He told me that the canter had spread, I was now in my spine. Then he handed down the verdict. A week, give or take. I was only half listening as he talked about how the medication available would help control the pain. My mind was already elsewhere.

I was getting out of a car. The landscape was flat, bleak. The heat was cool and my mouth was dry. I could taste the dust carried on the desert wind and raised my hand to try and block out the blinding sun. Dusk was less than an hour away, but the light was still painfully fierce. I squinted at three men gathered around a camera and a tripod nearby,

wondered how it would be possible to film anything in the future. these conditions. Then, wandered over to say hello. I'd been a cameraman for five years by that point of my life. It was a career I'd stumbled into in the army when I was attached to a film unit. I was a grunt. I knew which end of the gun was dangerous and could carry equipment all day long. Then, while the unit was filming a wrecker in a village, the Viet Cong attacked. Second in, the cameraman was decapitated, his legs crumpled and what was left behind fell to the ground. I knew the camera was expensive

kit, so I grabbed it and tried to find the dead man's dog tag. But there was no sign, and I scrambled to cover. Later, that same day, the unit set off on another assignment, and the mere fact I still had the camera made me its new operator.

The director shouted at me as if I knew what I was doing, and before long, I sort of did. It turned out, I had an aptitude for using a camera. This gig lasted for 18 months and when I went home I was hooked on filmmaking. The director went on to shoot a few made-for-TV movies and one feature and never return my calls. But I managed to scrape together enough work to make a living.

It was a hobo kind of experience, always on the move, always hustling, and when a job came along, usually working long hours in garbage conditions. That's show business. I introduced myself to the crew that evening. I was looking forward to a four-week shoot that began at dawn the next day. A set had been built, a high street that could have run through any small town from my view of it in the now failing light. Apart from that, I knew nothing about the movie, and that was fine by me. as long as they paid me and I got to work a camera.

The rest of the crew were staying in a flop house 50 miles away. I'd chosen to sleep in my car to save money. And from the way the sound guy itched at the angry red marks on his arms, I figured I'd chosen wisely. There were no bed books on my back seat. I said goodnight and watched them drive away, then settled down, wrapping the thick, woollen blanket I'd brought with me around my shoulders. I hoped my dreams would not be populated by headless soldiers

but that was probably wishful thinking I had not been asleep for long when I was woken by the sound of voices I looked out of the car window and was surprised to see a dozen or so people heading in the direction of the set night had fallen but stars filled the sky and I could see that they looked relaxed

some were chatting some smoked one was drinking from a flask She finished and handed the flask to a man walking next to her She flashed him a dazzling smile as she did so And my temperature rose a good few degrees She Was beautiful I clambered out of the car

Totally at a loss as to what was going on And desperate to know a name I stood there trying to rub an ache out of my neck And wondered what the best thing to do was This was decades before mobile phones took over the world and I had no way to contact the producers There was no on-site security out here in the middle of nowhere I guess no one thought there was any need

The camera had been left on his tripod The sound equipment lying on the ground As the newcomers paused next to these I wondered if they had come to steal the kit And was wondering if I should try and stop them or get the hell out of there. And the beautiful woman chanced to look around and saw me. She smiled at me.

Wow. My legs turned to jelly and neither fighting or fleeing felt like an option then. So I grinned like an idiot and waved. She wandered over. If I had been a screenwriter, I might have used words like suede or sachet to describe the way she moved. I definitely would have come up with a better opening line for myself then. What are you? I mean, who are you? But that's what came tumbling out of my mouth. Ex-soldiers can still blush furiously, I assure you. I was at that moment in time. She hit me with a smile and said,

I'm the leading lady on this motion picture. Who the hell are you? I opened my mouth. but my mind was a blank, so I closed it. All of the others were heading over by this point. They still seemed very laid back and jovial, and my personal embarrassment continued to lead by a head over any kind of fear. One man stepped forward from a small crowd and held out his hand. I am the director of this masterpiece. Are you a new cameraman?

Coggs turned slowly in my brain. I am, I said, but. I thought we weren't starting shooting until first light. The man frowned, and then understanding, eased out the lines on his face. Ah, he said, you are with the day crew. The day crew? I asked. Yes, we are the night crew. Our regular cameraman is indisposed in jail, but assured me his cousin could fill in.

I assumed you were him. No, I'm sorry, I said. A pity. He replied, still, perhaps we can help each other. I was aware of the woman still standing there and noticed that she was looking at me, hopefully. Which is why I said, yes, of course. Excellent, the director clapped his hands together. Then let's get to it.

Scene one, take one, the desert at night, a high street under the stars. He waved his hands at the others as if he were herding cattle, and they strolled off towards the set. The woman remained. I looked at her. I couldn't help myself. Her eyes were gentle brown. Her long black hair fell loosely

over the pale skin of her shoulders. She wore a simple red dress and the faintest traces of makeup on her lips. You will make me look good when you feel me? She asked. I answered in all seriousness. Yeah, I promise.

And then she winked, and turned, and sacheted and swayed. I watched her for a while, then sighed. With what was left in my common sense, I'd worked out what was going on by this point. I had heard of, but never worked on a night shoot. They were filmed after hours, using the same set and equipment already in place for their mainstream production shooting during the day. This sliced a lot of the cost. Some of these movies were intended for foreign language markets. Some were explicit and would be shown without clearance from the centre.

Cast and crews were different for the day and night shoots. Usually. I carried the camera on his tripod over to the set where everyone else was already gathered. I saw no real harm in me covering for a short while. As soon as they had a proper replacement for the cameraman, I would step aside. going without sleep for a night or two was no big deal for me

and I was confident that quality of my work on the day shoot would not be diminished and there was no reason that producers employing me needed to know I rested the tripod on the dirt at one end of the fake high street and waited for the director to tell me where he wanted me to shoot from the first scene was a long shot along the high street that ended with a woman walking into view Next, the camera followed her as she went into the bar constructed at one end of the street.

Many of these structures were just facades, less than a foot wide and propped up on the back. The bar was closer to a complete building. Old-fashioned oil lamps hung in the walls, providing the light as the woman ordered a drink and ignored the lustful look she was getting from the male actors in the bar. She was playing an outsider, and she shone in the room. in every scene we filmed. When the director called cut once more and told us that was it for the night,

I felt a wave of sadness pass over me. The woman had taken a flask back out and was taking a long drink. I approached her nervous as a high school kid who'd never been on a date. Excuse me, I said. I was wondering if you would like to have breakfast with me.

She looked around at the mocked-up buildings, the empty land, And unless you've got a dinner folded up in the boot of your jalopy, she said. I don't think so. Then she smiled at me again. Only there was a sadness in her eyes this time. And she reached out and placed the hand in my cheek. You're sweet, but you're not for me.

I wanted to protest to say that if she got to know me, then maybe. But all I did was stand and stare, as she did. She sashayed. Swayed. It was still dark as she walked away, and the rest of the crew and cast followed. I watched until I lost sight of them, of her. I looked at my wristwatch. Dawn was still an hour away.

And it would be a whole day before I saw her again. It was a day that dragged. I did not impress the director on the day shoot. It wasn't that I was tired. It's just that my concentration was shot. All I could think about was her. And by the time the day crew and Cass drove off to their digs, I was pulsing with excitement. The first thing I would do, I promised myself, was ask her name.

It was crazy that I did not even know that. It would be a start at least. My heart was beating way too fast as I stood and waited for night to fall for her to appear. She was with the director this time and a man I had not seen before There was no sign of the others The man was young, slim His hair was slid back

And he had a crazy arrogance about him And his arm was draped over a shoulder My skin burned with jealousy The director acknowledged me and said Bring the camera I hoisted it reluctantly the tripod's ungainly legs pressed against my side. Then I followed the three of them towards the set.

One of the buildings that was more complete had a room in which a plain wooden bed had been placed. White linen sheets rippled in the breeze which entered through an open window. I was tense, felt sick as I set the camera up. I told myself I was being ridiculous. I had only just met this woman. I knew nothing about her.

and yet I was in agony as the director produced three squat candles from his pockets and placed them about the room, lit them. In there flickering light, she lay down on the bed. I tried to meet her eye to see if she was doing this willingly or was somehow being forced, but she did not look at me. She gazed into the young man's eyes as the director instructed, tuck him in her arms. He kissed her on the lips. "'Filmed them,' the director said. "'I snapped out of my days. "'He was glaring at me.

"'I forced myself to set the camera running "'and looked into it. "'She was a dark, lithe shape "'against the white sheets, "'and she was alone. "'Mistified, I glanced up. "'The man was moving his body against hers. "'I returned to the camera's view.

"'It was not captured in its frame. "'What the hell?' I muttered and lifted my head once more to seem lingering over a neck to see his lips open and the sharp pale fangs reveal. With erectile speed he brought them down onto a flesh. Her back arched and she began to scream. Shock held me to the spot until I felt warm breath in my own neck and turned to see the director was close, close enough to bite. His fangs were bared and sweat coated his skin. Fear shut through me, breaking my paralysis and I stumbled backwards, tripping over the camera on his tripod, and ended up sprawled on the floor.

Where, a few hours earlier, my heart had been beating with excitement. Now it raced with terror as I looked up and saw primal hunger in the director's eyes. I tried to scramble away and felt the tripod pressing into me. I realized I'd broken one of its legs. I stared at the ragged, pointed edge, and me. memories rushed into view. In black and white and technicaler, scenes like the hideous reality

in which I was caught. I remembered what the heroes did, how they escaped. I picked the tripod up, holding the broken wooden point forward, drove it into the director's chest. It was his turn to scream, an animal's howl that filled the room.

Then he staggered backwards. He did not crumble into dust, as the make-belief monsters had in those old movies. But dark lines had appeared in his skin. They spread rapidly, opening up like cracks, and his cries of pain intensified. I turned my makeshift weapon towards the other man. He was standing by the bed now and hissed,

once more exposing his fangs. Then he began to back away. I did not follow as he slipped to the door and disappeared into the night. I rushed to the woman. She was sprawled across the bed, blood trailed from her neck and pulled on the sheets. Her eyes stared at the ceiling and her chest rose and fell as she fought to breathe. I lifted her up and, still holding the tripod to ward off any more attacks.

I ran for my car. After laying it down as gently as I could on the back seat, I started the engine and drove. I had to get us away from there. I drove through the night until the first traces of dawn began to appear in the horizon. She had been quiet till then. Only as the daylight reached the windows of the car, she gasped and threshed around. I slammed on the brakes. I could see wisps of smoke rising from her skin,

and, scrambling onto the back seat, I grabbed my blanket and covered her with it. She became still, her breathing steadier. I began to cry. as I realized what she had become. Your granddaughter is here. I look up. The memories that have gripped me tumble away. I'm back in my room at the nursing home.

The care assistant says again, Your granddaughter is here. I smile and put in my coat. And the care assistant props me up with her arm as I walk down the corridor and out into the car park, where she waits. She helps me into the car And we set off

I tell her what the doctor has said And that I do not want to return to the nursing home I want to die I say Out there in the desert With you She does not reply Is focused on a driving

And I do not press her for a response After a couple of hours drive We reach our favourite spot The desert is silent And there is nothing but the night I drag myself slowly out of the car She unpacks two seats A projector, the screen

And sets everything up Then we settle into our seats Ready? She asks Yeah I answer And she presses a button And the projector rattles into life Images fill the screen The desert, a high street, stars high above illuminating, a lone woman walking into sight.

It is a beginning only. The movie was never completed. I turned to her and smile, and for long moments cannot take my eyes off her. Her gentle brown eyes, her long black hair falling over the pale skin of her shoulders. She is wearing the same colour of dress as she did when we first met. More than 50 years before, the same trace of lipstick. Time for her, for her kind, is gentler than any breeze. At first, when I aged and she did not, the charade, when we needed one, was that she was my daughter.

When I moved into the nursing home three years ago, I introduced her to the staff as my granddaughter. I counted down the hours to a nightly visit. As the film progresses She returns my smile You're missing the movie She says and places a hand on my cheek There has not always been this ease between us After the night shoot

I would not leave her And I begged her again and again to turn me But she told me each time That she would not inflict the torments Of a new existence on me The craving The lust for blood The addict's hell

She would not Because She loved me Loves me still As I love her The film flickers on the screen The final few frames She rests her head on my shoulder

Her voice is calm When she says I cannot go on without you I am not able to reply My heart is breaking I take a hand in mine and we wait for the dawn. It arrives, and a grip tightens

as the first rays of sun reach her skin. And then I can no longer feel a touch. And through my tears, I watch as her ashes are carried away. On the desert wind.