CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - I work in a prison for crimes you've never heard of Creepypasta

Episode Date: March 26, 2025

Another year, another YouTube Anniversary. Still cannot believe it has been 13 years since I started this channel.CREEPYPASTA STORY►by CreepsMcPastaCreepypastas 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...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA 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

Being a prison guard isn't easy. You have to maintain control, control of routine, of unpredictable people, of yourself. In a normal prison, there are so many factors to consider gang affiliations, smuggling, fights, and occasionally escape attempts. A lot of people think the job is about strength, about control through sheer force. And yeah, maybe in some prisons that works. But not here. I work in a prison that's above a normal prison. The place people send things that can't go anywhere else,

things that aren't supposed to exist. Some of them used to be people. Some of them never were. Some of them? No one knows what they are. Not really. Scientists try to study the, them, administration tries to classify them, but at the end of the day, we're all just keeping

them locked up and hoping that's enough. My job is to make sure the vault stays closed, and I do this through a strict routine and following my guidelines to the letter. When you get started here, there's one prisoner that every new person gets assigned. The phaser, Peaking into his cell, you'll see a man, mid-forties, looking ordinary as ever. However, periodically, he will flash with a bright light and blink to another section of the cell. He was caught toying with teleportation technology, and from the lack of usage in this facility, I can imagine it's still far from being perfected. He is a reminder of the consequences of dabbling too much into the unknown.

It would be oddly relaxing to watch if it wasn't for the horrific screaming during and after he blinks, though sometimes it's just muffled sobs when he's exhausted, so it's not too bad to watch then. Sometimes he's lucky and he doesn't blink for a few hours or even a day, but some days are bad. when it's just non-stop. With how unpredictable and unstable he is, sometimes he just disappears. The empty cell will alert us if he's gone too long than someone is sent to investigate.

He never actually leaves the cell. Not once has he ever teleported out of the room, let alone the facility. Whatever they line the walls with is effective. However, it's what we do that is observed. When I was alerted, I waited outside and observed, noting down any anomalies until he blinked back. But some of the more proactive new recruits, ones looking to prove themselves rush in, armed and ready.

The lucky ones get the scare of their lives, and the man blinks back in with a sudden flash, scaring the hell out of the green recruit. Wherever the phaser goes, whatever he sees must be horrifying. I would have thought he simply blinked forward in time, delaying when he appears to us in the facility. But the look in his eyes after a delayed blink tells a thousand stories, ones which he'll never share. The unfortunate outcome is when a guard stands where he appears.

Without fail, contact with a blinking entity, even if just brushing his arm, as he blinks back always favours the one who blinked. The guard simply bursts into a huge red mist. Since getting cleaners inside is an impossibility, the phaser has to clean it up. Looking back, this all feels like a test to see if a guard is ready to handle the oddities contained here. A litmus test for new recruits. Being too passive can lead to catastrophe.

too proactive can also lead to catastrophe. Sometimes even a middle ground can be detrimental. You're tested every day with your split-second decision-making skills, and it feels like this is how they gauge us on our response. The phaser is one of many prisoners dangerous by circumstance, a repercussion of dabbling too far into untreaded waters, and being eternally punished. However, some prisoners are dangerous by choice. In society, we've heard of people pushing themselves into great feats. Arches who can hit a bullseye, then split their arrow with a second one, lifters geared to the max, hauling weight that matches large vehicles. But what if someone took it further? Prisoner X has a laundry list of protocols.

To simplify it, he essentially turned his body into a living weapon. Chemical, biological, technological, mentally, he dabbled into every extreme to make himself the most dangerous person alive. Through multiple surgeries, the scientist here have removed a large portion of his internal weapons and contingencies. However, he still has many that simply cannot be undyed. His skin is nigh unbreakable, hardened through means which our scientists are still trying to figure out. Prisoners often have a running theme of not talking, so there's still a lot unknown to us. But this makes him resistant to tasers and fire, our go-to for prisoner subjugation.

Instead, we have to periodically drill a small hole into his neck, not an easy-eastern. feet with how thick his skin actually is, and put on a collar with a reinforced syringe filled with enough sedatives to put down an elephant. However, we still need bodies to escort him from his cell to where he needs to be. To say he's resistant to authority is an understatement. One time he tried to make a break for it. He waited for the cusp of when he needed redrilling. his skin had hardened for his neck to resist the needle just enough for him to knock it away, head down just tackling the wall to alter its angle. It took almost three full squads to finally subdue him, many casualties taken.

Despite his arms eternally being bound, he was still proficient in killing in many other ways. I was fortunately on a different shift, but the deaths up to his death. security and increased how often he was drilled. Luckily, not all prisoners are strictly evil. Some are here for being too aspirational. One man sits in a cell, low security and minimal luxuries, which is a lot compared to the many others living conditions here. We call him the tinkerer, because the self-imposed title of Technomancer was too ridiculous for us to use to use. use. At first, he was a menace. Nothing too threatening, but he would tinker with anything he could get his hands on. Guards found their combs missing from their belt, only to have a strange signal

beam out to everyone's radios. Our PDAs would have strange bugs, only to find a signal was sent to disrupt them. Though there were many anomalies on a near constant basis, some potentially catastrophic, When it fell into the category of technology shenanigans, it was easy to know who the corporate was. Often we'd storm up to his cell, subdue him and search the area, and each time we'd find the makeshift array he'd made with the scraps he'd found and destroy it, giggles coming between his grunts as a guard held him down. Something we noticed, though, was that when he did play with his tech, he would happily stay in his room and tinker.

This gave us an idea. Periodically, we'd bring in a broken piece of technology, a laptop, tablet, phone, etc. Obviously, we'd remove anything that could cause issue, parts that could access the internet, or simply remove a key item like the CPU. From here, we'd bring it to him under the guise that we wanted it fixed.

and he'd tinker with it for days, sometimes weeks. When he'd finish, we'd search his room in case he held any parts, often finding them, and unbeknownst to him, destroy it all. We once booted up a fixed laptop he'd given us, adding back in the CPU and battery, only for it to be an almost completely different device, set up for functions we couldn't even comprehend, the brainchild of the madman of technology.

But we kept up this routine because doing this satiated him. This wasn't on any of the books. We guards often found our own means through on-ground observation to come up with makeshift routines to make our lives easier. However, one guard didn't get the full memo. He saw the tinkerer as the guy that fixes things and brought him his phone that wasn't turning on. Despite the facility being deep underground,

jammed up to the max for any outward signal by locationing technology. Within hours, a nuclear code was sent and almost worked in setting off multiple missiles. A nuclear warning was even sent out in Hawaii, which outwardly was reported as a false flag, but we were close to a real catastrophe. The guard was swiftly dealt with and the tinkerer was banned from fixing tech for months. But he wasn't unhappy with this.

Every time we checked on him, he still giggled about it, thinking about what he did. This tied him over until he was eventually allowed to fix broken tech again, with much more restrictions from then on. There's one prisoner which I like being put on shift for. Causes no issues, needs no maintenance. Just need to keep an eye on him and note down any anomalies, which there are never any of. This is because he's stuck in a perpetual state of stasis. The story goes that a strange signal was picked up in the basement of a residential building.

When a filled-up team was sent to investigate, they found a found him in this state, frozen in time. Around him was an array of strange tech, computers linked together in complicated ways, and a bulking machine mostly destroyed. Due to him not being able to cooperate in any sort of questioning, he was up to the investigation team to piece together what happened. And boy, did they find a strange story

through logs on his computer they discovered that he had in fact found the first legitimate means to travel back in time very illegal we have a few prisoners detained for even attempting to start that project but he might have succeeded

somehow he cracked the code and put together the haphazard machine that lay destroyed around him But it's what he did with it, which is possibly the strangest thing I'd ever heard. Instead of going back to make riches, change a mistake in life, alter history in a groundbreaking way, visit a prolific historical figure, or hell see the dinosaurs. He instead went back in time to kill his own grandfather. Guy was obsessed with the grandfather paradox. It's strange how genius level intellect has a correlation with absolute insanity.

We only know this from going through the logs on his computer. He detailed his plan and specifically who he was after, won Charles Vernon. We checked the database and a match was found. Charles Vernon had died in the late 1940s no record of kids, which means if it was his grandfather he had successfully killed him and stopped a parent from being born causing him to become a paradox however he didn't simply disappear despite all the information we could find so much more is left a mystery it's inconclusive whether the state he's currently in is because of the paradox, a side effect of time travel, or self-inflicted after getting the answers he wanted.

It's also unknown what happened to the machine, whether it was a one-time use kind of deal, or something he set up so that it could never be used after him. But we're working hard on freeing him. He studied a lot, and tests are always being ran and whether we could reverse the condition he's in. because throughout all the logs there is nothing on how he built the actual machine so the scientists are hoping to unfreeze him and prying this information out of him one way or another

the science is above my pay grade however I sometimes imagine what could have been done if one went back with ambition though someone going back with chaotic intentions would be a terrifying thought. Maybe that's why he never documented how it was made, or why the machine was destroyed. A large amount of duties are sectioned off between different squads. What this means is that duties I've mentioned, which are in my rotation, may infrequently or never show up for other squads.

We have no idea how the criteria for this is made, whether it's some inner system of threat level or group-based competency. God knows what kind of demons others deal with, but hopefully I'm in a good rotation. But one duty, which is universal between all groups, is playtime. For this duty, I dressed up in civilian attire, very young-coded,

and drove to a town called Smallhaven. Now, the facility is located remote from any civilization, So this town itself isn't a town per se. It's actually an entire level of the facility, widened enough to create a dynamic functioning town and tall enough that a realistic skybox could be made. Everyone in the town is an actor, playing their part 24-7, never-breaking character,

all for one prisoner. A child, she lives with a family, though they are technically actors, knowing that the town isn't real. They are her biological relations. All in all, she lives the perfect life, goes to school, plays with friends, visits extended family, which were also moved into the facility town. The reason for her detainment is simple. If she gets mad, she goes nuclear. Not in a hyperbolic way. She has enough internal energy to flatten entire countries.

Plural. It's too big of an explosion to contain or isolate. Even if set off remotely from the furthest point of land, dead set in the middle of the largest ocean, the tsunamis would devastate large portions of continents in all directions. We can't get it to space without risking hitting levels of stress that would set her off before exiting the atmosphere. So she's stuck in this facility, under the guise of having moved to a nice little town to start fresh. There are contingencies set in place to make sure she never leaves. The outer limits of the town are all abandoned factories or run-down ghettos, all designed psychologically to make them underwent.

desirable to go to. Though abandoned might be the wrong turn to use, considering how many trained snipers are stationed there around the clock, all armed with long-range sedatives. Even the ghetto's population are all trained militia, scary-looking people to deter her wandering through and armed to the teeth with contingencies. She once wandered close to the outer limits with no escorts nearby. was reported that she wasn't trying to make a break for it, but they still implemented a fail-safe. She was subdued and when found by her parents, she was told she fell asleep wandering too far.

Luckily, she bought that, and there hasn't been an incident since. She has no idea what is truly going on, and when I was selected for playtime duty, it was my job to check on. How this duty works can be complicated. With how closed off the town is from the real world, getting information reliably to and from Smallhaven is difficult. Every so often, a guard has to role play into town to check on things. Sometimes we're an out-of-town councillor sent in by the school administration to check on all the students.

for travellers, car having trouble, so stuck in town for a few days. Seeing a new face also keeps up the facade of the town's legitimacy, hiding the fact that it is cut off from any real civilization. My shift, however, was different. This was the first drafted long-term visit, and I was lucky enough to be the first participant. Despite working in a visit, a visit, facility in which you're physically tested every day with some guards covered head to toe in unsightly scars. I've been relatively untouched, though there are given items to look after ourselves, in which I do the bare minimum. I guess I just have to admit it. I have a serious case of baby face.

This hasn't been an issue, but it must have been noticed because it's a serious case of baby face. because it tied directly into my assignment. I was sent in as a new high school student, finishing off the last part of the year. I was given a strict schedule to shave and make sure I blended in. Alone, I would stand out as slightly older, but amongst the crowd, I blended in well enough. The education departments were mixed through all years,

segmented between elementary and high school, So despite being years apart in the schooling system, I was able to observe the prisoner on occasions. In class, I was instructed that I did not need to participate in learning unless observed by the prisoner, which never came up. And so, I used that time to take meticulous notes on anything I observed. I learned her name was Emily and that she got on well enough in school. However, there was a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of a little bit of. planned event. Since I was new in town, Emily's parents invited me over for dinner, keeping up the facade of a friendly, welcoming town. Alongside me was an actor who posed as my mother.

I handed over the envelope containing the script to my mother, and we studied it together for hours to make sure everything lined up. My mother played a single parent, and I had lived with my father for most of my life. However, she came back into the picture through letters, and I had decided to reach out and live with her for a bit to mend our relationship. A believable story, and one that was so small, it would be hard to poke holes in. We drilled the script, adding information for us to sink up with in case anything else came up.

The meal went well, because it was under the guise of meeting. new people, we managed to detail their family life in a public setting. Overall, they reviewed well, and I noted how stable everything seemed. However, unexpected to Emily's parents, my mother pulled them to another room to crack open a bottle of wine, something the kids couldn't participate in. This left Emily and I alone for an in-depth review, away from the pressures of keeping up appearances with their parents. This is something we struggled with in previous reviews, since leaving a child alone with an adult

stranger was something hard to set up. Since I was perceived as a youth, rather than an adult, I was to extract any useful information with this precious time frame. It started slow, regoing over icebreakers, but this time in a more personal way, asking how she really felt about life, about school, about her parents. She opened up more than at the dinner table, all of which was positive. The small haven project was still going strong. However, Emily went quiet after a while, with a deep look of contemplation on her face. Rather than pry, I let the silence hang, letting the pressure of social cues ease her into opening

up. However, rather than throwing some thought-provoking question back, she threw a curveball straight into my face. I know it's all not real, she said plainly. If I had a drink in my mouth, I'd have spat it out. Huh? Oh, what do you mean? I stuttered back. I'd been composed before this, in control of the conversation, following my orders to the letter. However, this was veering so off script that I spat out a question, hoping to steer things back to normalcy. I mean, it's a simulation, right? This town. It's all a facade, no? She muttered. I froze. My first instinct was the gaslight the hell out of her, make a feel crows. crazy for even thinking that, even though she was 100% right.

But then a spark in my head told me that if I argued against the point, this could cause unease, which could turn to frustration, anger, something I was instructed over and over to never cause. So instead, I probed. What makes you think that? I asked, curiously. I know something's inside me, something I don't understand, something no one understands, she said solemnly.

Ice ran through me. She was to never know about a condition. It was theorized that the stress of keeping it in check could trigger her, like being constantly conscious of needing to breathe. She carried on in my silence. I know everyone's an actor pretending to be part of this town. Even my parents. They're my parents, I know that, but they keep up a facade.

This was dangerous, and it was getting worse with every word she spat out. She knew too much, but there was no denying the conviction in a voice. She was certain. There was no going back now. So instead of trying to contradict it, I went for the answer I desperately wanted for myself. How do you know? I asked. Not some set up to flip the narrative. I needed to know. Did someone talk? Did she sneak out without people knowing?

This information was vital. Whatever is in me, this energy. It's changed. At first I heard buzzing. My parents thought I was sick, pulled me from school for a bit, but then it like, formed into words, but they weren't from people's mouths. It was from their heads. There went all hopes I could reverse this. She could read minds, as if this couldn't get any more terrifying.

I wanted to ask so much. My mind jumbled with so many questions. I couldn't even stutter the first lines of a question. However, she picked up on this. Of course she did. She could hear everything I was thinking and answered before I could say anything. Don't worry, I don't mind it, she said with a hint of glee. I coughed to clear my throat. What do you mean? I asked. I needed confirmation. This town, this life? I don't mind it. My parents are here.

My family are here. They love me. I know that for a fact. That's the one thing that isn't a lie. They're doing this for my safety, so I don't mind it. She said, matter-of-factly, I eased up at this, just accepted the situation. With everything in the open, we ended up just chatting the whole time, talking like real humans, something she probably lacked and hadn't had in a long time.

Just before the parents came back in, she told me to keep a new developments a secret, something which I agreed to. Besides, she'd know if I lied with absolute certainty. Since then, I've been the first reoccurring volunteer for playtime duty. The story evolved that I've reconnected with my mother and live in a split custody between them. My actor mother is now family friends with Emily's parents, and so we have a reason to see them when I come to town to visit. And Emily and I have developed a bond

which is valuable to the prison. Playtime gives me a much-needed reprieve from the hectic nature of the prison. But I'm always kept busy. Lately, I've been put on feeding duty. The prisoner is the man in the hole. His cell is simple. Nothing extra is fitted to hold him.

At least what we can see. Despite his strange quirk, he never leaves his cell, though it's sometimes hard to tell. No one in my team has ever fully seen him. Every time we visit his cell, there's always a new hole somewhere. On the floor, wall, even ceiling. The location is always random. This is despite whatever is logically on the other side.

beside his cell is another unoccupied room. Under and above are other levels of the complex, yet the adjoining rooms are never disturbed. The holes look almost cartoonish, rubble piled up around the hole, or the edges frayed up in an exaggerated manner. But the hole itself is unnatural, dark, regardless of how a light source is pointed at it. When he speaks, it echoes like is far deeper than what should be possible. They're closer to dimensional holes, and when a new one appears, the previous one is gone. Not even a single scratch to indicate any wrongdoings. We only know he's in there because he will chatter to us when we bring in his food, though

we're always just instructed to leave it on the floor and leave. Studies have been done to figure out what the holes truly are. Items, cameras and people have been sent in to investigate. But whatever enters never leaves. If connected to a tether, it is severed upon entry and swiftly lost. So, for the time being, it is just a management and observation job. One time we thought he escaped A routine inspection was sent with catering to deliver

However, no hole was found It was reported and as the backup team was dispatched The guard found where he was Giggling was heard from behind And when he turned He saw the edges of the keyhole frayed out Little giggles could be heard from the time tiny void. God knows how they do it. But the external team have an uncanny ability to detain

these wild individuals. They are either hyper-elite individuals formed to make a god squad or piled up with enough tech to take down civilization as we know it. Either way, they get results. However, there's one prisoner which is an exception. Frank. Because we're a reason, rather than being detained. He simply turned himself in. We still don't know where he's truly from. When asked, he gives a different answer each time, always in a sarcastic tone. But there are theories.

Some are basic, like some form of extraterrestrial origin. Some think he's some sort of genetic freak, given god-like abilities through the genetic lottery. The most interesting to me is that he's from a higher dimension, fourth or fifth maybe. Either way, it's incomprehensible what he can do. Teleportation, flight, spontaneous combustion. If you can name it, he can probably do it. Because of this, he's entertained in a cell.

Nothing can hold him. me, we've tried. So, he just wandered the facility looking for things to do. A guard once took the last donut, and unbeknownst to him, Frank suddenly decided that he wanted it. Now, if Frank had asked, the guard probably would have given it to him. However, Frank skipped the altercation entirely and went straight for retribution. Frank turned the guard's head into a rose. From this, we discover that having a rose for a head is guaranteed death, though it's technically unconfirmed since we only have a sample size of one.

When medical had a look, it was intricate. It wasn't just the simple swap. The roots of the rose had blended seamlessly with the veins and arteries of the neck, extending down throughout the body. Now, why did Frank turn himself in? Well, that question has another tangent to really put things into perspective. See, this facility is hidden.

Hidden, hidden. So many layers of secrecy on top of more secrets, along with people eliminated along the way just to make sure this place isn't known about, isn't able to be found and isn't able to be tracked. It would take generations of descendants to follow all the trails in order to find this place, sifting through so many dead ends and false leads. So when Frank strolled up to the front door, it was a big deal. Frank's reason for doing all this is the only thing he said that I believe.

He was bored, and what sounds more fun than to mess around in the most secret advanced place on earth? To him, this was a playground, and we were his new playthings. At first, it was an issue. His mischief often got people killed. When curious about a prisoner, he'd released them just to see what they could do. When we were doing important procedures, he'd disrupt them just to get a rise out of the staff. He once flipped gravity in the whole facility just to see what would happen.

God knows who decided on the solution, but whoever did deserves only the best in life. See, what got him to fall in line was to hire him as a guard. Now, he's not really a guard, not in the structural hierarchy sense. He was given a special title, a uniform and a list of duties. However, the duties are a placebo, replacing the blinker fluid in a car kind of thing. But whenever he finished the task, grand praise is given. We found that making him feel important and blowing up his ego keeps him too preoccupied to cause chaos. He's always awarded employee of the month, despite that not really being a thing here.

He's given an office with a fancy door plaque, which I'm pretty sure he does nothing with. And at the end of every month, he's given a large paycheck with a bonus if he does well, which he gets every time. We're not even paid for this job. The paystubs he's given are just printed pieces of paper with some made-up letterhead and lots of numbers. But he eats it up, acting grateful, talking about how he'll treat his family when he gets some time off. He doesn't have a family here, by the way. I'm pretty sure that with a thought

he could turn the entire complex into a block of solid gold. He has no use for money. There aren't even shops here. But the whole charade just works. So we never put a pin to his happiness balloon. And it's came in handy a few times. There are a few guards he's taken a liking to. He had a stint where he acted like a sitcom character and chose a few guards at random two,

I assume, b-side characters. The friendship was entirely one-sided, but with enough improv he was satiated. However, one of the side character guards was having an issue. While detailing a prisoner, they slipped their bonds and was about to cause mayhem, usually a death sentence in here. When suddenly, Frank came in and swiftly put a stop to the situation. Right now, he's not an issue. However, I fear that one day he'll tire of this role.

and he'll switch back to causing mischief. Or worse, a lot of prisoners scare me. In fact, that could be an understatement. Every day, our lives are put on the line during the most menial of tasks. However, one prisoner simply worries me. If a prisoner loses their life here, all that is lost is potential. discoveries. They are both held captive for the safety of the world and studied for the betterment of progress. But there's one prisoner here which, if incapacitated or worse,

could spell the end of the world as we know it. The first prisoner, I've not been entirely truthful, more of a lie of a mission. I speak of this building, call it of a facility and such. But in reality, the building itself was an anomaly that made this whole project possible. A building, semi-sintient and fully self-sufficient. It was a smaller building at first, but its unnatural properties were soon discovered. When built upon, each room tethers itself to all others in a conscious way. If we want a room to to be a cell, we have to build it as such. Even when we use the simplest of materials, its function is enhanced to what the room is desired

to be. It's difficult to grasp. I don't fully get it myself. I'm paraphrasing from what I piece together from the technical jargon I was fed. But it's how I've come to understand things. Its heart, if you could call it that, powers the whole thing. facility, producing more than enough power for all the containment cells, along with the many experiments running within the structure.

This was all kept under wraps. We didn't know any of this until issues started coming up. Lately, concrete has been crumbling in the far reaches of the building. Cell doors aren't locking as tightly as before. Fortunately, the prisoners haven't fully grasped how strained the building is, but with enough force escapes are possible. We have set up measures to keep things in check, but it's through staff, and this introduces a lot of elements of human failure.

When observing the degradation myself, it's always in the lowest levels of the compound or the furthest reaches of a floor. I have a theory that the building is strained, bloated beyond its limits. We are constantly adding more floors, more rooms, more functions, and whatever this anomalous building is, is finally struggling to keep up, but we cannot stop. Every day there is an influx of new prisoners, fresh from the external team,

threats that cannot be left unchecked in the outside world. They need to be put in containment, and this is the only place that can hold them. The prison started as the first anomaly, the first prisoner. But when its term has ended, it could spell danger, when everything we've collected gets out.