CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I'm a firefighter. What I saw beneath the burning woods was so much worse than fire" Creepypasta

Episode Date: September 23, 2021

AUTHOR'S SUBREDDIT► https://www.reddit.com/r/ManiacSociety/CREEPYPASTA STORY►by TheCrookedBoy: 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►Ed Laag: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/1n...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-

The world was on fire. Walls of flame crushed in, sending hundred-foot trees toppling to the ground like slain giants. The air was screaming with heat. It rippled off the encroaching circle of flame in great shimmering waves, highlighting burning trees, brush, flocks of sparks that flew upward into the night sky that was deeply black, choked of galaxies by a kingdom of smoke.

And it was deafening. The crackle of heat devouring wood, the hiss of things dying in the millions, the whistle of flames as they spread like disease. Through the death choir, I couldn't hear the crash of metal on metal, as Sandy pounded away at the bunker door with his red-tipped service axe. I was on a defensive attack, putting wet stuff on the red stuff in an attempt to buy my only ally enough time to hack us the safety. We were soldiers, stranded in the enemy's belly,

surrounded by an army of flame that would not stop until it had melted the meat from our bones. and our bones to ash. Suddenly, hands grabbed me from behind, and before I could react, Sandy was dragging me down into the bunker. We hit concrete stairs that stacked down, descending into the unknown, and for a minute I thought I saw...

Then the metal door slammed shut behind us, and the world was bandaged in darkness. After all that's happened, I wish we'd stayed upstairs and let ourselves burn. It would have been better like that. It started as a routine night. The sirens had sounded just past midnight, sending a dozen of us falling down poles,

into flame-retardant suits with oxygen tanks and sealed masks, and then into the red engines, which would carry us off to fight the burn. Like D-Day soldiers in a landing raft shooting through sheet of salt water, we rode in a heavy silence. It was comfortable that way, and it had become a superstition.

We didn't speak, until boots hit the ground. It had it been like this all year. In the Ozarks, some junkie was always ashing down their meth-lap trailer home. And since our firehouse service a stretch of Missouri that contained no few number of breaking bad fans,

we were always getting woken up to douse a drug fire. I figured tonight would be the same. I thought we'd just be wrestling another prosy at chemical burn with a dozen redneck unlockers howling at us in despair. But I was wrong.

God, how I was wrong. Even before I saw the eerie red glow polluting the midnight sky, the dispatcher crackled in over the radio to remind us. This was a Class F wildfire. The sky was burning as Sandy broke a rule. Oh my God, he muttered, eyes wide and bright.

Oh my God! A small patch of the northwestens, a splatter of mountains crinkling the horizon, was on fire. I could see trees crumpling, falling as an army of flames charged the sprawl of suburbia between us and it. A disembodied voice spoke. Air support on route, ETA 20.

It took me a moment to realize this was the dispatcher. It didn't take nearly as long to realize that 20 minutes was far too long for support of any kind. The burning trees were separated from the housing tract by a long ribbon of highway, a blistering stretch of asphalt that made our engine bump and sway like a galley fighting stormy waters.

We were all grateful for that road. It would make laying a defensive line that much easier. We all piled out of the engine with our hearts hammering our throats. Some guys from fear, others from excitement. It was a rush either way, a mainline kick of adrenaline soaring through your system,

powering up each step under 75 pounds of equipment. Kozik, your typical beefy, wore a stash firefighter was the company officer and ordered me and Sandy on anchor point. We couldn't protest if we wanted to. The great rush of heat was roaring closer to the road with every pass in second. It was maybe 200 yards from reaching us. While the team went to work, Sandy and I grabbed our gear and fell into a torturous uphill jog, up into the woods.

We pushed out a fireline, hoping to prevent a flank by the rapidly spreading army of flames. The woods were burning ahead of us, and to the right, not giving us enough time for comfort, but more than enough to finish our duty without any major wrenches. Then, it all went to hell. I don't remember it clearly. It's caught in my memory like a series of broken snapshots. Random stutters that I can't exactly place. I remember staggering back as the flames shot forward and gobbled through our defensive line like it was dried out kindling.

I remember the hollow whipsaw sound of air hauling through my lungs as the fire saw in my horizon on four sides. I remember screaming to Sandy that we'd need to route before it was too late. But then it was too late. I remember dumping a haphazard defensive attack in an attempt to buy us enough time to...

To what? The next thing I knew, like trees crumbling around me like felled gods, Sandy was dragging me down the bunker hatchway, the one that would feed us. into the hive. Our comms didn't work down there and the concrete stairway to hell. My headset cracked and spat static

until I finally clicked it off. We staggered down in silence, guided only by the beams of our hazy flashlights we kept just in case. The stairs were narrow, the ceiling low, a concrete tunnel that forced me to stoop, and even then I sometimes heard my helmet cracking off the low roots that had forced their way in.

The sounds of flames battering the metal door receding behind us, bleeding off into a low whistle that eventually faded altogether. Then it was just the sound of our ragged breath, our heavy boots pounding down as we went in a daze, unspeaking and single file. The only thing that mattered was finding the next step. The next step, the next step. I didn't have time to consider what might meet us at the bottom.

It was a tunnel, but it looked like a water. The wall, grayish and wrinkled, bore hundreds, thousands of tinypox, an awful Vespairieary, a tripophobic nightmare. Sandy had asked me something. I looked up at him, his boyish face drawn and pallid beneath his visor. What? I asked. What is it? He repeated.

I didn't know. I didn't want to know. Looking at the mass of tiny hives, like so many dreadful eyes, may my see. skin crawl. I would have told him not to touch it had I seen his hand reach out, but I didn't see until it was too late. I turned as his outstretched finger prodded the wall, which was sponge-like and piberous, and watched with growing dread as the holes around his fingers puckered and expanded with dry rattle. No, I started. The holes tightened and released a spray of thick black fluid. Sandy was

splattered and fouling before he had time to react. Gops of it misted his chest and helmet. I knew it was acidic almost instantly. Beneath a goo, his suit began to disintegrate, hissing smoke and a fetid reek that breached my suit and stung my eyes. In a daze, he tried wiping it off. It was like an awful vaudeville skit, sandy desperately wiping at his chest, arms and helmet, which did nothing more than spread the acidic discharge to his gloves.

Then he started to scream He was like melting wax As the suit dripped away from him So did his flesh Falling off in waxy ribbons He melted through his visor And then his face Pulling the skin from his flesh

And the flesh from his bones By now he was more gore than suit Great streaks of tissue and bone fell apart As blood drip drip drip Under the dirt floor beneath our feet It filled his visor And overflowed in a red sheet He stopped screaming

He couldn't anymore He was drowning on his own flesh I hadn't moved I couldn't even if I wanted to I was drunk on exertion and fear My heart was hammering my ribcage Hard enough to bruise Finally after an eternity of listening

To the sickening splat of my melting friend Hit the ground He pitched forward and bubbled apart Into a puddle of human goo What remained of his suit deflated As he flooded out of it in a sizzling wet mess. I backed away as the pool of meat liquid

crawled across the ground toward my feet. It was a hindbrain reaction. Step after step, unaware that I was making them, until something thumped into my shoulder. A dry rattle filled my helmet as I turned to the wasp wall, which was expanding and contracting around me. I staggered back,

bumped into another wall, turned and bumped another. The tunnel around me, pulsed with awful industry. It rattled, hissed, puckering up to blow acid. I turned and ran as a wall of black ink sprayed out from countless faucets. I was gripping my haligan tool as I stumbled out of the tunnel and into the white forest. The halogen is a fireman's best friend, a pickaxed crowbile love child that can open just about anything, including heads, and after what I'd seen, I wasn't taking chances. I looked around and felt my heart some sort of nauseatingly. I was... Outside?

No, that wasn't quite right. As I'd fallen out of the tunnel, the walls and ceiling had flown away to accommodate this place. This white forest. Mountains of naked trees, gnarled and bone white, rose and fell against the sky that was impossibly black, like squid ink. Milky light splashed down from a jagged,

sliver that was too long and narrow to be the moon. It looked like a gash in the heavens that had filled with light instead of blood. A giant cave, like a hungry mouth, was borrowed into the earth mountain nearest me. Darkness seemed to spill out like smoke, awful, suffocating darkness. I knew deep down that I needed to avoid that cave at all costs. I swallowed and took a careful step forward. Glass cracked under my boot. I winced. I was too long. I was too long. I was too Loud, too loud. I lifted my boots and looked down. A broken human skull looked up.

My eyes went to the forest, the white forest. And I saw not a maze of tortured wood, but one of bone, twisted and moulded into impossible tree-like shapes. It made my stomach weak and my eyes feel like powders of squirming insects. I swallowed and it chill ran through my body. The feeling of eyes crawled. over my neck. I turned to look at the cave, snarling at me from the side. Looking at it made me feel dizzy. Something dreadful was buried deep within. Move. The little voice in my mind forced my limbs into motion. I walked slowly, surely, weaving through the detritus of death, rotted corpses draped

in mouldering flesh, broken bones from things long forgotten. The cave receded behind me, and so did the feeling of eyes of my flesh. I gripped my haligan tightly as I wound through the bone forest. A while later I found the river, the one that ran through with a lame trickle of water that reeked of corruption. That's where I saw. The woman. She was hunched over the riverbank.

Drinking? I couldn't tell from where I was. Her back was to me, soft white flesh beneath a silky dress. and he was hitching up and down. As I drew closer, I realized she was crying. It was like music, the sound of her pain. It flooded my ears like honey and vanilla, calming my raging heart.

I didn't realize I'd move closer and that I was standing right next to her. Her hair was like flax, smooth as glass, and she was beautiful. I couldn't see her face, but I knew she was. "'Ma,' I said, not realizing I'd spoken "'until I heard the word in my helmet. "'She stood up, not yet turning to face me. "'Ma'am,' I said again, "'softly panting my free hand on her shoulder.

"'I felt a sudden revulsion "'crawled at my fingers and through my wrist, "'slow trickling up my arm like an eight-legged horror. "'I tore my hand away and watched with growing terror "'as she turned to face me. "'My stomach knotted up, forcing sourgaping, bile at my throat. I tried to step back, but I couldn't. I was frozen with terror. A face was torn into an impossible grimace, distended into an awful silent cry beneath

hollow eyes and hair that was black straw, hair that was drenched over a lumpy, malformed scalp like a dead spider. Her skin was made of wrinkles and disease, wrapped over sharp bones that looked like nothing but wire hangers beneath the Roadkill-Ragsue war. I thought of the scream as her awful pain-wrapped face filled my visor. And then, she screamed. It carved through my stomach like a hot dagger. It filled my lungs with icy pain and needleed my ears like a hive of insects. Curtains of darkness fell over my vision as the band she held. My legs gave out and I crumbled down, falling into blackness with a scream still ringing through my soul. I heard singing before I opened my eyes. It was lovely.

It was in a language vaguely foreign, but it was warm and made me feel... I opened my eyes and looked around the dreadful wax museum. It sounds silly, but it's the first thing that sprung to mind. We were in a massive cavern, incredible towers of rocks spiraled up and down, splitting the space into sections, guttering torches through jagged shapes over the wax men melted into the walls. They were vaguely human mounds of wax, fused, shoulders to shoulder, shoulder around the wall of the cave. They were completely sealed over, spare nose holes and

eye holes. Beyond those, I saw living eyes. They watched me, washed with terror, from beneath their waxy cocoons. As I slowly looked around, I figured all the wax figures were not figures, dead or otherwise, but living things forever imprisoned to the Banshe's cave. Suddenly, the singing was horrible, like something in the back of the fridge turn rotten, laced with a foul taste that made me feel dizzy. I was glad I couldn't see the banshee. I was afraid that if I did, my stomach would fold and he vomit on my throat. I tried to sit up, but I couldn't. I was bound to something. It felt like a rock, but it was warm, pulsing with slimy heat. The singing was getting closer, moving through the cave, ricocheting after strange acoustics, but no doubt getting closer.

Then it was right behind me, inches away, right to my ear. The singing stopped. I froze. I tried to make myself small. Dred turned my bladder to jelly. I heard bone crackle and snap as she shuffled into view. And I breathed a sigh of relief. She was beautiful once again. Beautiful. I blinked and she shifted like a reflection on water,

and beneath her beauty I saw rot and repulsion. I couldn't look away, even as she stepped up to one of the wax men and pounded a tree tapper through his chest. I had a muffled moan of agony. The banshee settled a wooden bucket beneath a spigot and watched as yellowish fluid rang from the waxman's chest and splattered into receptacle.

I looked away, horrified. Out of the corner of my vision, I saw her disappear deep into the cave. I heard the crackle of flame as she started a fire. I had to look. I had to confirm what I already knew. I creamed my head. Coarse rope ground my throat and mouth, tearing away the skin as I forced myself to look deeper into the horrible nest. Vaguely, I saw her standing over a massive cauldron, stirring with a paddle.

A smell, sweet and strange, funneled up and out as the fire grew beneath it. A smell of melting wax. A bolt of terror laced through my inside like a hot needle. I looked around the wall of prisoners, and they looked back at me. What's worse than death? I swallowed, I struggled against my binds, coarse rope bit into my flesh and burned. I could see my gear lying a few feet away, my mask and oxygen tank coiled up like a dead thing. As the banchi stirred the massive pot of wax on the

corner of my vision, an insane and totally dangerous plant took shape in my head. My hands were bound by the small on my back, and I desperately patted down my back pockets for the bick lighter I used the smoke. A firefighter who smokes. There's got to be something to be said about that, I thought, crazily as I felt. There, my hands found a hard lump in my back pocket. I could see a shadow growing on my periphery. I fumbled out the bick and flicked it on. With flame hissed up and licked to my wrists. I stifled a cry as my skin screamed with heat, blistering against the tiny flame that nibbled

through the rope binding me. The shadow grew. I had slight footsteps carried on the sound of bone cracking. Hot tears ran down my cheeks as the rope frayed and split under the tiny flame. A dull throbbing warmth settled in over my fingers and wrists as they hardened on the the fire. Then, the lighter went out, and the pantry was here. I couldn't look at her. I could see her in the corner of my eye, horrible and broken, face ripped apart by that silent grimace, eyes, hollow black sockets, arms too long for a body so narrow. I blinked and she was gone.

I slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly, her face was gone. I slowly, slowly. Her face was gone. I slowly. Her face inches from mine, shredded with silent agony. I screamed. God how I screamed, and she wrapped me in a hug, and I felt a flesh, slimy and awful, over a pincushion of bones that made my skin crawl and my toes curl with disgust. All at once I wanted to die. I didn't want to escape gallantly and ride off on a white steed. I wanted to fall into the cold abyss of death where things didn't burn or scream or live in shells of wax.

I inhaled sharply, pulled a lung full of thick, foul reek, and kicked backward. I think the only reason I broke free of a grasp was that I caught her off guard. Suddenly I was weightless, tumbling toward the gear that was supposed to save my life that would end it in a heartbeat. The ground drilled into my side, and I kicked and wormed toward the oxygen tank sitting two feet away. I gnashed my teeth over the tubing that fed clean breath into my mask and tore it out of the small black tank. compressed air hissed out The banshees crooked shadow fell over me My heart flooded twice

And I ignited the bick Which caught the oxygen and rode it like a wave Don't remember much about the explosion There was a flash of light But it wasn't a blinding snapshot or a hellish belch of flame It was a warm expansion Like a rose blooming in light Heat

Searing and suffocating heat sucked me into its boiling belly The world shook as I burned and laughed and danced through blooming light. My life ended in fire, which is oddly poetic if you think about it. It began again in a riverbed surrounded by woods that were blackened from a nighttime burn. I awoke to the first light of dawn, with a thin trickle of ice running down my face. Water, I was in a river. It tasted like ash.

it tasted wonderful. I sat up and looked around. My suit was scorched. My stupid, clunky, anti-flam suit, I was the only thing that had spared my life. I was under open sky in the aftermath of a great fire. Everything was black, hazed with smoke and ash. Closses of brush still smouldered here and there,

but the fire had died with the night. I looked at my hands. They reminded me of roadkill. tired treadmarks of a splattered gut that had baked in the sun for months I started to scream I've been in the hospital for longer than I can remember Sandy's mom came to visit me

she cried into my bandages they never found his body which is why I think I started this tale maybe to give a closure maybe to give it to myself but as I reached the end of my recount I don't feel any better. When I shut my eyes, I still see her.

Her, the banshee, whose face was torn by pain.