CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I work in a nursing home, something makes the lights flicker" Creepypasta

Episode Date: January 25, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Eusophocleas: 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►jimcook1: https://www.reddit.com/r/creepy/comme...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-

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Goar for. Find what you need you need to be on Amazon.com. I have worked in Shady Acres for 15 plus years now, seen all manner of things that have made me regret this field every once in a blue moon. I can't explain how painful it is to bond with a resident and lose them. My first real introduction to dementia was a sweet old woman named Rose. She came to Shady Acres due to her family being worried she wouldn't fare well in her home after a nasty fall.

she had been living alone for some time and reluctantly agreed to be admitted. She had such a fiery spirit under that graceful southern charm. She'd clean a room instead of letting the janitors do it. She'd iron her clothes with an iron she'd somehow found. More than once she snuck outside to try and tend to flower beds, because, in her words, ain't no type of way to treat daylilies. Gotta talk to them when you water them, honey. All of the staff grew to love her,

as did many of the patients. They love having something remind them of their younger years, how intent and driven it makes them when they catch wind of being able to do something other than watch TV. It's what makes it sad, seeing how badly they want to be useful and active. Months passed, enjoying erantics, looking forward to what you would get into.

Comfort came in this routine. There came a day Rose wasn't up early at the crack of dawn. She was normally the first in line for breakfast. I went to see her with a little succulent plant I'd bought for her as a gift and found a staring out the window from a chair, quiet and still like a painting. When I called her name, she looked at me like a stranger. I know in retrospect she woke up,

and was likely confused and scared and disoriented, and I was no more comforting being a six-foot behemoth in black scrubs in a doorway. She screamed and threw her pillows, pictures, the remote, anything she could grab came flying at me. It was only when she hit me in the nose with a hardback copy of Robertson Crusoe, and I dropped that little potty plant that I let go of her. Initially, I wasn't very pleased, but it subsided into this acceptance of reality. She didn't mean to do it. I tried reassuring her through her crying and trying to wipe the blood off my face.

that it was okay and there wasn't any hard feelings. She asked me and God for forgiveness. As the other staff came to de-escalate the situation and clean up, she claimed she didn't have any idea what took hold of her to do such a thing. Miss Rose, despite her nature, slipped further and further as the weeks turned to months. She had shown up a tender yet fierce southern bell. Her last months left her delirious at any given time. a listless shell of a once proud soul.

She wouldn't talk, hardly would eat, seldom got out of bed, unless it was the tinker with something her failing mind came up with. Winter came much the same that year. It wilted the daylilies outside into brown husks, stealing the vibrant colour that once made them so pretty. I get teary when I see any orange flowers now. They remind me of Miss Rose. What began the stranger a more horrific side of things,

was during a freak snowstorm I had the misfortune of standing watch during. I had already made my rounds to take vitals for the night. This left me listening to random words and clicks of medical machines, hearing muffled gossip sessions from the nurses at the second desk down the hall, and a rerun of friends from somewhere that same direction. Average slow night in a nursing home. Towards three in the morning, I noticed the change in the environment around me. It had grown really quiet.

It had grown cold. Even sitting under a vent blasting warm air and bundled in a jacket from home. I got up to talk to the other nurses and found them with the same issue. We looked over the equipment and found it all still in order. All systems still operated. No alarms went off. But it felt like static had soaked into the air, like the room was stuffed full of cotton and,

no noise could come through unless you were right there at whatever it was that made it. Shady Acres felt disconnected from the outside, as stepping through the door came with howling wind and almost warmer air, despite snow falling to the ground. Back inside, it was the same uneasy silence, same static, the notion something unnatural was underfoot. Then, it began. Lights flickered one by one, starting at the emergency doors down the hall, as if some power-sucking snake was easing his way through the wiring. I felt such a sense of dread. I froze on the spot, like some small worm before a gigantic bird.

And that snake went over me, jumping from the overheads to the side-panel emergency lights, casual and deliberate, straight into the light over Miss Rose's room. Every ounce of concern for her came crashing through that fear and I must have been a blur to the passing eye as fast as I was moving to get to that room. The lights wouldn't turn on so all I had was my phone light. The darkness seemed to swallow it up

despite the room being no bigger than one in a college dorm. Each step felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, every breath full of ice-cold air and the hairs on my neck and arms stood stiff like something was behind me, under me, next to and around me. When I reached the bed, she looked at peace, full of colour, healthy and unbothered by how the room felt. She opened her dark brown eyes with the softest and sweetest look of contentment I've ever seen and placed the hand of mine, warm as a cup of coffee.

"'Tend them flowers, honey. I got a ride to catch tonight.' No sooner as she said that did my phone go out. The pressure rolled like a wave, then dissipated, taking the swallowing darkness, static, cold, and Miss Rose. I felt the warmth lever in seconds, and when the power inevitably returned to a room, a lifeless body was all that remained. a wilted flower. I had to go outside the building. I swallowed hard to dislodge the lump of grief in my chest,

fought to keep my tears inside. The alarms were going off now. In one night we had six of our elderly population pass away, all peacefully and nothing more than old age. The next morning I avoided a room. Couldn't go back inside of it just yet, needed a process and grieve. I held together just fine until I reached my desk.

She had one of the nurses put that succulent in a styrofoam cup from the dining hall. She treated that cup with as much care as she could muster. There it was on my desk. I cried hard in the break room, bawled my eyes out, I'm a shame to admit. She was the first of many I grew attached to before I learned it best not to. In the following years, I started watching the lights in every room. Didn't matter how big or small. I focus on them every once in a while.

In my mind, I figured if I could be there when it started, then I could sound the alarm and have whatever nurses were on hand to be vigilant. They saw what I was looking at for a few times. They knew I wasn't crazy, but we were never there for the start. We could only be there for the slow crawl to the room. it was headed for when it passed the spy. It didn't matter if we beat it to the room we figured out it was moving towards, screamed at it, wore crucifixes and prayed it away.

It would arrive nonetheless, and do the same thing it did with Miss Rose. Pressure, cold, lights out, didn't make a difference. We locked every door wants to stop it, and found the handle bent, clean off of it, and the internals of the lock tore open. so much as a flicker of light would send the staff on hand for that night into a frenzy. We knew it was impending death, and we as humans couldn't stop it from happening. It took a few more residents after that, same way as usual. We had one year when nothing happened, and we had months of relative ease to no losses due to the lights.

Most of the other staff waved it off as superstition, and bad wiring. suffering from even worse insulation. A lot of folks got comfortable again and put it behind them. The next time the lights came, it was the last day, I worked there. Mr. Callaghan had been a resident for longer than Miss Rose. We remembered his room a lot easier as the power room

instead of 2-22, as the main breaker box was quite literally outside his room. He was a hardened, old farmer, served in the Second World War and Korea, the kind of man you imagine when you read about the old-school days of the United States. He's that guy. He had little family left over

and they were unable to care for him, so they put him in shady acres. He was a lot like Miss Rose in how hard-headed and steel-willed he was. He'd go for walks in the morning around the property, said it helped his heart. We knew what helped his heart with the nitroglystering pills he took,

and the meds that made his body except the donated heart he'd gotten years ago. But we weren't going to discourage an active lifestyle. We weren't going to have him sit in his room and wait for the lights. A bad thunderstorm hit around June. Emergency generators kicked in to restore power. The nursing home looked like red hell in some areas. I heard an alarm go off behind me,

one of the first in ages. It was Mr. Callaghan's, and his heart was racing. and beating erratically. SCA. I tore across my desk and met the other nurses rushing to his bed.

One of them grabbed a defibrillator and had begun administering paste shocks to get his heart back into proper rhythm. Those that weren't assisting Mr. Callahan were checking on other patients and making calls to the hospital to arrange a transfer.

I was watching the emergency lights. They all were flashing. each and every one of them. It was moving with the heart monitor's beeps and when they administered the defibrillator or lightning struck they all would light up with burning intensity like a welding arc.

Cold began to spread. The room grew thick and uncomfortable and much like the emergency lights the pressure that formed would buck and writhe with each surge of electricity. We all grew desperate. Our orders and demands to each other full of fear. Mr. Callahan was no more better than when we began. It was choking our efforts off,

making us sloppy, waiting for us to get too tired, too uncomfortable in the cold. It was mid-June, it was hot and humid outside, yet you could see your breath inside the room. I had no idea, so I had an idea, a last attempt to stop the lights. I bolted out of the the room and toward the west side of the nursing home. It was empty, and I figured I wouldn't be challenged if I went that way. But it seemed whatever was there to claim Mr. Callahan knew my intent. Once I crossed the double doors, I found thick darkness, like a wall of nothingness. I'd been here for a decade and some change.

I didn't need lights to find the AED, so I kept my frantic pace. I travelled maybe ten feet before I heard the door so. slam shut, then the horrific sounds of tables and wheelchairs being thrown aside. Something new that this entity could do. Computer screens flashed alive, machines strained and groaned with a surge of power and lights brought with it, and I can almost feel something barely missing the back of my scrubs collar. But I kept going. I cut a sharp corner at the watchdesk area and listened to a stack of medical supplies and papers

fly for a counter and down the hall. Thank God for these non-slip shoes. The AED hung on the wall just ahead and I tore that machine out of his box with sheer ape grip strength. Rushing back to the east side, I could see the nurses in the power room tending to him and to the left I could see the breaker box.

I began to turn the AED on and take out the pads in preparation as I got closer. Five steps shy. I felt it grabbed me I've never felt such pain in my senses Never felt my joints pop and throbbing agony My whole body seemed to lock up It finally had caught me

And it was showing me what it felt like to oppose it Nurses rushed to help me But were thrown back through the air Doors began to open and slam The lights seemed to tremble off and on The cold doubled into bone-chilling freeze I couldn't get to my knee without being slammed with agony.

It had held me down. It was going to put the one thing that would threaten its ritual out of commission long enough to finish the old man off. I forced non-fingers to close around the pads, made dead arms work my shirt up enough

to expose my stomach and gave all my strength to pinning the pads against me with one arm or the other reach of the button. I saw a lightning flash and I hammered my finger against the shock button.

Then, There was nothing. I spiraled in the void for what felt like years. I figured I had died. The sudden painful burn of smelling salt snapped me back into consciousness. I was laid against the wall, a machine hooked up to my arms. Everyone looked exhausted, some looked terrified, and some were asleep on the floor, drenched in sweat.

Mr. Callahan's heart monitor beat steady and strong. A soothing noise to end a nightmarish night. The next day I put in my two weeks notice. I had seen enough. The residents were understandably shaken, but most believed that the wind from the thunderstorm had caused a freak accident. Some of them soon requested to be moved themselves. That would be the last night I spent, watching and running from the lights.