CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I was the Lawman in a Small Town. The Cell Held a Hideous Secret" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 13, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by withbite: 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►Yuri Hill: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Jl...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-

This was not what dreams were made of. A single street of liquor stores, second-hand shops and boarded up shells. The old men sitting on wooden boxes plane checkers. The three-legged dog that went from stranger to stranger hoping for a scrap of food. And the police station. That most times felt like a motel for drunks and lost souls. My station. I joined the police with a mind to becoming a detective in the big city.

L.A. or New York, I'd solve homicides and bus cartels and hang out with beautiful women. That was 30 years ago. Now this was my beat. I was a lone cop in a one-horse town. The land was not fit for farming and there was no manufacturing or chemical plants, not a whole lot of anything for folks who wanted to earn a living. But there was hope on the horizon. I climbed out of my patrol car, stretched and winced as my back cracked. I spent too long sitting on my backside, and when I wasn't behind the wheel or on my desk, it was propping up the bar at Martys.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays at Martys, the peanuts were free, and any broken teeth you found in the bowl you could keep. On Fridays, there was a square dance where it always ended in a brawl, So Fridays I stayed home and watched TV. Once my back had stopped complaining at being forced into action, I looked out into the distance. It was pretty much empty, as empty as it had always been. But if things worked out, that was going to change.

A big box organisation that specialised in such things had won a government contract to build a supermax correctional facility, a sprawling high-tech home for the worst kind of floorbreakers. and the organisation wanted the sighted out there in the desert, within an easy truck ride of my town. There'd be money flooding in, and people, a lot of contractors during the construction itself, and then the guards and support staff. They'd need places to live and eat and let off steam. Good times they were coming to my small town.

There was just some smoothing out needed first. I climbed back into my car and drove to the mail. office, stopping once to let Marty collect a critter that lay expired in the middle of the road. Sundays was stew night at the bar, and I often gave that a miss as well. The mayor's office lay at the western end of the High Street next to the grocery store. The store's window had a display of canned goods, which had not changed in all the time I had lived here, and a sign saying no refunds, no credit, no spitting. The store's owner was sat on a rocking chair by the door.

He nodded a greeting, and I could not tell you if it was the chair or his neck which creaked. I nodded back, then pushed through the fine glass doors, which took you into a local seat of power. The mayor came from a long line of mayors. His father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather had all held the position, and that seemed to suit the town's folk just fine. The gravy train had travelled down a lot of the... their family lines as well. Having only lived in the town for a decade, I was still regarded by some as a newcomer, but I knew my way around. I knew my way very well indeed. I tipped my hat at the mayor's secretary. She was a fine woman with cascading brown hair and recently bereaved.

I was planning on asking her if she would like to step out with me one evening and had taken to wearing Teodron on the days that I knew I would see her. I strolled on into the mayor's office He was sat behind an impressive oak desk That came with a job Smoking his cigar and scowling and a laptop His chowls hung limply over his shirt collar Like fleshy pink drapes

And his nose was a mess of red, broken veins The mayor had a mighty liking for the drink And round here that made him a man of the people I pulled up a chair Took off my hat and wiped the sweat from my hair from my face. He glanced up from his laptop and drawled. We've got to get this done before they'll sign on the dotted line.

I've had more emails from the organisation telling me. I told you I would sort it, I replied, and if the suits they'll want to build this shiny new prisoner are raising your blood pressure, then today is the day. The mayor's eyes narrowed as he looked at me. You'll clear out the trash. I smiled. I'll do better than clear.

I all blasted away. He nodded and showed his teeth in a tight smile. They were crooked and yellow. I wished him a good day and headed out to take care of things. It was an hour's ride to the Clune's homestead. On the blueprints I'd seen, the northern perimeter fence of the proposed correctional facility would run right through their dilapidated shack and outhouses.

The organisation had made more than generous offer which would allow them to relocate, but the cloons were not the moving type. This was their patch of dirt. They'd been living here, breeding here and dying here for as long as anyone could remember. The patrons in Martyrs said that if you dug down deep enough,

you'd get to dinosaur bones, but before then, they'd be all clunes. That day, I was brandishing a holster and a badge as I marched onto their property. There was no one in sight, so I made my way. round the back of the shack. The ground was littered with broken and rusty things.

I took in a hoe, snapped off at one end, a vicious-looking scythe and a barrel full of rainwater, before my eyes were drawn to a pair of ladies' underbreeches hanging from a clothesline strung between two poles. I like to improve myself by learning new words from the three-volume dictionary, which took pride of place in my parlour, and the word which sprung to mind when I looked at those flimses.

was voluminous. I shuddered that noticed Par Clune's was emerging from one of the outbuildings. He was skinny as the handle of a broom and his hair stood up coarse and bristly to complete the impression. A large clay jug dangled from his hands. It would be full of the famous Clune's moonshine,

I figured, and there still must be the outbuilding. No one outside the family had ever drunk their moonshine and survived, So legend went, and I believed in legends. Par glunes squinted at me, and his mouth curled in displeasure. I could see he had two teeth, one on top and one directly blow, enough for chewing and to inflict a nasty bite. The law ain't no authority round here, he said, you're trespassing.

I stood up tall, my deputy's badge gleaming. I made to deliver an ultimatum, par. If you and your kin are not cleared from this place by sundown, then I'll be returning with the boys. Par Clune's expression hardened into a sneer. No one tells me what to do, or those city slickers wanting to build in my land, or you with your tin badge and matching shoes. Sundown, Parr, I replied, and turned slow to show I was not scared. I started my car.

My next port of call was minutes away. The organisation behind the proposed prison correctional facility knew about the derelict building that was the only other thing out here in the desert. They thought it would just need demolishing. It wasn't that simple. Billy and Tommy Morgrew were waiting for me in their custom truck next to the building. They were twins, both with a shock of red hair and freckles on their cheeks. They were born and remained conjoined at the shoulder, with one arm each.

on the opposite side. They rarely spoke to other people and communicated with each other with glances. The townsfolk cared little about the difference, though there had been a clash when they both wanted to marry the same woman. She had been willing,

but the preacher had refused. He had said it was against the will. For my part, the Morgreud twins were strong and followed orders easily, and that was the sum of it. They gave me a little salute when they saw me, one right-handed, one left, and I returned the favour. The building, alongside

which we were parked up, was a squat, ugly stone structure. Constructed in the 1950s, it had once been used as a holding place for prisoners working on chain gangs, saving the half-days drive back to the penitentiary. There were cells and an office for the guards. I climbed out and wondered over to the truck, shovels laying the back and garbage bags. I waited for Billy and Tommy to finish their smokes and break wind simultaneously, then said, Let's get this over with. The story of what happened here was no secret to the townsfolk, but it had never been shared with the outside world, because the town's business was the town's business.

I must admit, as Billy and Tommy cut off the padlock on the door, I felt a a twinge of an ease. I heard a lot of secrets in my time as the town's lawman. I knew about the crimes that had been dealt with in the middle of the night with baseball bats and hobnail boots, about bootlegging and corruption and more,

and I'd learned to live with them. But the secret of the building which we were about to enter sat very uncomfortably with me. The old metal of the padlock gave, Tommy swung open the door. The story that I had been told,

was that in the summer of 1951, the prisoners had been working on building the road through the desert. The heat had been vicious, and when the prisoners had glanced up at the unusual sounds of a plane passing overhead, they had shielded their eyes and seen

only a blur, before their guards were yelling at them to get back to it. The guards all lived in town and were known to be particularly cruel and lazy. That day, no one had reacted when the engine started the stutter, and it was only by the time that the stutter had turned into a howl and the plane

was spiraling downwards that they ran, or at least the guards ran. The prisoners still shackled could only shuffle, and the plane crashed close to them. Before it had ground to a halt, thick smoke had begun to pour from a crack in the hole. The guard said the prisoners were engulfed in the smoke, and when they staggered clear of it, were choking and scratching at their eyes. The gas was not done, though. It was drifting every which way, and the guards were afraid they would be caught in it.

So they herded the prisoners into the building, locked them in the cells, then got the hell away. The last thing the guards recalled was the screams of the prisoners they had left behind. The story became hazy after this. There was talk of secret experiments. There were rumors of code.

cover-ups of conspiracies, some involving the army, some the CIA, both in league with the mayor and lawmen of the day. Whatever the truth of the matter, the prisoners were never released. They were left to rot in the cells, and that was wrong in my opinion. A line crossed. I believed in legends, and I believed in evil, and evil had ruled this place. As I followed Billy and Timmy into the building, the air was stale and clogged with dust. Light streamed in through the barred windows.

We were the first people to enter the building in the year since the plane crashed and the final incarceration of the prisoners. When the cloons were cleared off and the contract was signed, as I was determined it would be, I did not want the contractors demolishing the building to find the remains of the prisoners. That would lead to questions and more delays. No, sir. We would sweep up the bones of the prisoners, toss them in the truck and find a burial place further out where they'd never be found.

And the outsiders would see only termites and spiders and dirt when the bulldozers moved in. I moved along the corridor. The office was to my right, a yellowed newspaper, a deck of playing cards, and a pack of cigarettes sat on the desk, left behind when the guards had fled. Ahead of me lay the cells.

They were all empty, apart from one. The guards, in their haste to get away, must have forced all the prisoners into the first cell in the block, crammed them into the small space. The prisoner's skeletal remains were piled on top of each other.

The bones of hands and wrists reached through the bars and the lines that had been scratched under the stone floor, as they desperately clawed to the ground trying to get away from the crush within was still visible. I felt nauseated, angry.

But there was nothing I could do apart from get the cell emptied. I told Billy and Tommy to pick the locks. It took them long minutes, but then they were in and began to scoop with the bones into the garbage bags. Then Billy grimaced.

Something bit me, he exclaimed. Nothing had bitten Tommy, it seemed, but he looked pained as well, due to the bond the brother shared as he scanned the ground. There's nothing here, he said. The only thing with teeth is... He never finished. He yelped in pain. Then, holding his leg, he started the jump up and down, forcing his brother into the same clumsy jig. I peered into the cell and swore to myself. The jaws of a skull were clamped. around Tommy's ankle.

Get it off, get it off, he yelled. Billy tried to kick the skull off, but it held firm. Tommy was screaming by now, and I looked on in horror as blood began to trickle from his ankle over his boot. And as an arm rose from the pile of bones that lay all around them, and grasped Billy, closing its bony fingers on his wrist. His eyes widened in shock. The arm began to pull. It was trying to pull him down, and he could not resist. There was nothing either of them could do,

and the twins were dragged into the bones, which now rippled and rattled and shook. Fear gripped me. The remains of the prisoners were somehow moving, animated by an unnatural force that was beyond my understanding. And now the bones were crawling over Billy and Tommy, prodding and poking and piercing their skin. Her spine wriggled his bony segment into Billy's open mouth and slipped down into his throat, cutting off his screams.

One skeleton, complete from his waist up, dragged itself under Tommy and bit down into his throat. Soon I'd lost sight of the twins altogether beneath the writhing mass of bones. I was shaking and freezing cold, even though I was soaked in sweat. I had to do something. But what? I was desperately trying to think when I heard something scraping against the ground. I looked down and saw a skeleton dragging itself towards me. It was whole.

His empty eye sockets looked at me and his jaw opened as if it was trying to speak. I turned tail and I ran. I heard things moving behind me but did not look back until I was in my car. The engine started first. I was so relieved I was wet. I looked up back at the building. A river of bones was danting his way towards me, but I did not see Heather would break into my car.

I would make it. I would escape. I reversed and swung around. I was driving away when I saw them in my mirror. It was Billy and Tommy, which was impossible. The bones must have killed them. And yet there they were,

staggering out of the building. Their skin was swollen and bruised and in places it looked like it had been ripped away. Their clothes were torn and soaked with blood. They walked swiftly. Their single arms held out in front of them and their faces were twisted into expressions of primal rage. As I stared in horror, they screamed together.

A guitaral, inhuman cry that sent terror rushing through me. I floored the accelerator. but now Billy and Tommy were running. They were catching me and clambering up onto the car, holding on, even though I swerved and swerved, desperately trying to throw them off. I did not see the clune shack coming up until I almost struck it.

I veered at the last minute. The car rolled and I was thrown clear. Pain shot through my body, but I had no time to hesitate. I jumped to my feet and sprinted away. round the back of the shack, away from the twins. Park Cloons was there. What the hell are you doing, Lawman? He yelled.

I tried to tell him what was following me. Dead, I gasped. Still moving. The dead, walking, chasing, here. He shook his head, looked at me like I'd lost my mind, until he saw them behind me. I could tell from his eyes the confusion which filled them.

I spanned around. Billy and Tommy was staggering towards us. Billy's neck must have been snapped when the car rolled and his head hung loose to one side. Tommy was staring straight at us. His teeth were bared. I turned to par. They're going to kill us, I told him.

And when they do, we'll be like them. My gut told me this. The part of me which bleed in legends and evil. evil which twists signs and hides the truth and abandons men to die only when evil reigns then there are things worse than death things coming closer

things about to strike Billy and Tommy were almost on us Parr leapt to one side and picked up the scyth which had been lying on the ground he swung it in looping arcs the scyth sliced open Billy's chest and he did not flinch Parr raised the scyth again but slipped as he swam and this time his blade landing on the joint shoulders of the twins, cutting clean through it. The twins staggered, moved apart.

Tommy looked at his brother. Billy struggled to do the same, finally managing to twist his face towards his brother. Even through the madness which possessed their features, I could see their confusion. For the first time, the twins were separated. They were two now, not one. and it had stopped them in their tracks. Parr was the first to react. He stumbled into the outhouse where the still was.

I heard hammering, then watched as a trail of thick, foul-smelling liquid began to flow out. It was the moonshine I realised he had broken open the still. He emerged, taking a lighter from his pocket. The moonshine had almost reached my feet. Run, he told me. I did not need telling twice. and sprinted away. He followed. Billy and Tommy were still in the days because they had split in two

and stood swaying as the moonshine trickled over their feet. I heard a click, saw Pah throwing the lighter through the air. Its flame flickered. Seconds later, it landed in the moonshine, now pooling around the twins. Flames began to lick of their legs as the moonshine ignited. They howled, but they did not go down. It's not enough, I cried. Parr ignored me and kept his attention fixed on the ground, where I now saw the trail of moonshine reaching back to the still was igniting. The flames raced into the outhouse.

Parr grinned, and the outhouse exploded. The twins were caught full on in the blast, and through the flames I could make out their bodies blackening and twisting as the fire consumed them. I fell to my knees in relief. Parr took a cigarette out of his pocket, tapped it on the back of his hand, went over and lit it in the flaming pool of moonshine,

and said through a mouthful of smoke, I don't like strangers on my land.