CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I'm a HUNTER of the Paranormal. We dealt with the one who makes CURSED rules" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 10, 2021

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I've been an investigator and hunter of the paranormal for longer than I care to remember. Studying law, protecting the innocent and destroying malicious entities at just a few of the job's many requirements. In my younger years, training day in and day out with my uncle, I thought that we were heroes and that I had the greatest job in the world. Now that is dead, along with most of my friends and family, I'm not so sure. The monotony of inless travel and cheap hotels

The guilt of not being able to protect my loved ones When they needed me the most The burden of saving others It's more weight than I ever thought would rest on my shoulders More weight than most men can bear to carry But enough about that You don't need to hear some sob story This isn't about me

This is about my latest adventure One I almost didn't come back from A few months ago, while digging through various news articles and police reports for choice words like, bizarre and unexplainable, I came upon a tablet piece about a man, Jack, on a business trip. He apparently became hysterical and attacked his boss, Colter, in a hotel lobby. When asked why, he simply said that Room 371, the room Colter was assigned at the front desk, was no ordinary room, and anyone staying there was, quote, ingratory. danger.

He said he was trying to protect his boss by explaining the situation while pulling him away and out of the hotel. Galter resisted and fell to the floor, breaking his arm. He didn't press charges, but needless to say, their business trip and relationship was no more. Normally, I stay away from these kinds of things. More than not, they tend to be the product of nut cases. This one had all the markings of an overtired, over-tired, over-and-lawed. Overworked man on the verge of mental breakdown.

Still, it piqued my interest. With no other pressing cases on the table, I decided to look into it, if for no other reason than to placate my curiosity. A quick bit of research revealed that the Carverne Wood Inn, the hotel where Jack and Calder were staying, only had two floors with room numbers ranging from 101 to 256. There was not, nor had there ever been, a room 371. This wasn't enough to build a case, but it was strange nonetheless.

I couldn't find any contact information for Jack, but I found an email for Coulter and a site dedicated to networking for investors and business leaders. He responded, but only gave me a brief account to the incident, not wishing to discuss specifics. In his summary, however sparse, even he described being handed a key card for room 371 before Jack, grout dim. The plot was thickening. Next order of business was to call the hotel. I did this on three separate occasions, spread out across the week with three different aliases and spoke with three different staff members, ranging from entry level to management positions. In the hunting business, this is known as the rule of three.

Provided you can sift through the BS and identify the potential truths within, It allows for a higher chance of information retrieval without raising suspicion. It works even better if you can act and change your voice accordingly. Call number one was to the hotel manager. As I suspected, no matter how persistent I was, she would not comment on the matter. Call number two was made to low-level management in the form of Tammy, a shift supervisor. She was working on the day in question, but I'd heard a lot about it from co-workers. She said Jack was a lunatic, kept screaming about a list of rules in his hotel room.

I wanted to pry for more, but we were disconnected. I'm fairly certain I heard the manager come over and scold Tammy before the line went dead. Call number three was to the front desk. For this one, I decided on a back-ended approach. I would attempt to book the non-existent room 371 to see if the clerk would bring up the incident on his own. Upon dialing, the voice that met my ear was steady and emotionless. Thank you for calling the Covenwood Inn.

How may we be our service? Is it possible to book a specific room? Of course, sir, which room would you like to stay in? Room 371? One moment. There was the brief pause and a faint sound of tapping at a keyboard. Room 371 is available tonight and every night going forward. When would you like to like to be?

to book your stay. Impossible. Did I call the right place? Was my information wrong? So, you're saying room 371, that's 371, is available? Yes, sir, tonight and every night. And this is the Covenwood Inn in Massachusetts? Indeed it is. And your hotel only has two floors with room numbers 101 to 256, right? Correct, sir. Then how is there a room 3,7? There was another pause. This one considerably longer than the previous. Thank you for calling the Covenwood Inn, where we always hope you enjoy your stay. Goodbye.

Click. Well, I'll be damned. Despite my doubts, it looked like I had found my case. I just needed to do a little more research before going out on a full-fledged hunt. Most entities travel. It's doubtful that this one struck once and then moved on. If I could find its signature and establish a pattern, I could probably pick up its scent and predict its next attack. All I had to go off was Tammy's second and account of Jack screaming about a list of rules.

That would have to be my starting point. And down the rabbit hole I went. Five days of non-stop research and I stumbled upon the motherload of paranormal activity. Dozens of accounts of mysterious survival guides left in apartments, hotels and workplaces. strange set of rules with a sizable body count left in their wakes my next move was clear I had to call Al

Al was an old soul who had been around the paranormal block more than a few times his hunting days were behind him but he was a walking encyclopedia of knowledge if anyone could shed some light on these lists it was him Al's recognizable scruffy voice

cut through the receiver just after one ring. Henry, how the hell have you been? Glad to know you're still alive after all this time. Would it kill you to pick up the phone once in a while? I know, Al, I'm sorry. Caught up on the big gig. You know how it is.

How's your heart? Still giving you trouble? Of course, of course. But you and I both know, I've been through worse health and a few clogged arteries. To what do I owe this call anyway? I'm sure you didn't reach out to discuss my declining health. I've uncovered something big, Al.

and I need your help. Must be big if you're calling me instead of diving headfirst with no parachute like you usually do. Al was referring to a particular case we worked together years ago, his last one on the field. I was foolish and cocky.

We followed a bad tip I received from a less than reputable source and found herself smack dab in the middle of a dense forest surrounded by a coven of dreamwalkers. Then nasty creatures with an appetite for children's nightmares only attacking the waking under the light of a full moon,

which just so happened to be the case on the night we went out there. It was a trap and we walked right into it. We managed the kick and claw our way out, but just barely. Al took up most of the onslaught. I carried him out to the main road where we were picked up by a passenger rock and brought to the hospital. The physical damage was healed, but Al was never the same after that. He never said as much, but I swear he blamed me for what happened.

Even if he didn't, I did. I can't ever forgive myself for that one. There are these strange survival guides being left in random locations across the country, and they're wrecking up quite the body count. I don't know if it's... Al, interjected with a heavy sigh. I know exactly what you're talking about. You should probably swing by my place to talk more about it.

Owl, you're across the border, over 300. miles from where I... Click. Damn it. Al was a stubborn man and a lonely one at that. He probably just wanted a visit and I couldn't really blame him. After all, I

was the reason he turned into an old hermit in the first place. Whether it was the guilt over breaking his spirit years ago or my lack of options, I made that drive and cross state lines on my way to see Al. If anything, it would at least be good for him.

It was just how I remembered it. A perfect little cottage tucked away in the middle of nowhere, far away from the outside world. Not the house you would expect a hunter to live in. But that's how Al liked it. Small and quaint. I think it reminded him of his late wife, Ellie. She used to talk about a dream home like this one, if memory serves.

Al rushed out to greet me. There you are, old friend. Get over here. He pulled me in for a bear hug. I reciprocated. Happy to seem in person for a change. All right, Henry, let's go in and talk shop. We dislocated, and Al brought me inside where I sat on the sofa.

He brought me over a TV dinner, a common meal in our trade, and a beer before sitting down in the chair opposite me. Okay, Al, what do you know? This is big. You were right about that. But. He threw me a concerned look, indicating I might not like what he had to say. Come on, Al, I drove hundreds of miles to hear this.

It better be good. Define good. Out with it, Al. Good news is, I know what we're dealing with. I swear the man dragged out simple responses just to keep me from leaving too soon. that or he enjoyed dangling fresh meat over my head just to watch me swipe at it and miss probably a little of both and the bad news the truth is i've been tracking this thing for years you're not going to be able to catch it kid its course is completely random by the time the headline shows up she's already moved on to another town with no trail of breadcrumbs to follow

She? Yes, she. Could be a he, but you and I know males are pretty rare. It's a witch, Henry. A powerful one at that. Al went on to explain that the list of rules were agreements between the witch and a victim's. Contracts that needed no signatures to be legally binding. Once the rules are read and comprehended by the victim, the agreement takes effect.

If one or more rules are broken, A supernatural calamity will before the victim, usually resulting in their death, and which time part of the life force is absorbed by the witch. With each soul piece she takes, she becomes more powerful. Why do folks break the rules in the first place? It's all part of the design. Most of the rules are simple spell traps dependent on time triggers. To most, is nonsense.

Even I, with my vast knowledge of the paranormal, would be hard-pressed to not use the bath, room after 11.22 p.m. just because of a list I found on a motel dresser. How do you know all of this, Al? I learned most of it from a man who stayed in an Airbnb near Cape Cod. He found a list and broke each and every rule, but still managed to make it out of their life. He even gave me the damn thing. What? You mean you have it right now? You've been holding out to me this whole time? Al walked over to his desk, opened up a drawer, and pulled out a sheet of paper. He then walked over to me and tossed it on my lap. It won't do you much good.

I've examined it more times than I can count. It was beautiful in a morbid sort of way. I'd been studying the case for so long, it felt amazing to have a piece of the story in my hands, a physical piece of evidence I could inspect with my own eyes. Feels different from normal paper, wouldn't you say, Al? It's papyrus. I imagine the other lists I made from it too.

from it too, necessary for the spell. I turned it over and noticed the dark splotch near one of the bottom corners. Owl, what's this? A stain, I guess. Probably wine spilled from the last guy who had it. That wasn't wine. I was sure of it. I raced over to Al's bookshelf and grabbed a copy of the demonic dealings by Jack Grovewood

and began flipping through the pages. Al, what do we know about witch deals? Aside from these ones, their verbal contracts between a witch and a human. One wish granted in exchange for a piece of their soul. Why? What are you getting at? I found the page I wanted and scoured the text until I came upon an image.

Aha! I held at the picture of two hands dripping red over a chalice. And how are the deals sealed, Al? With blood from both parties. We know all of this, Henry. This is different. She doesn't need permission, and there's no wish granted. You break a rule and you're toast.

That's it. Clearly, this type of contract doesn't need blood from the victim, but what if it still needs the witch's blood to bind the soul piece to her when it's done? I held up the list and pointed to the dark spot. Al thought it over for a moment, before it all sank in. You genius, are you saying we have the witch's blood right here? That's exactly what I'm saying. saying, Al. But what does that matter? We can't cast a summoning spell without fresh blood,

no older than two months. I received this ages ago. I know, but there's no statute of limitations on blood packs. That's how ghosts are able to make deals with demons, witches and the like. If we create our own list with identical ink and paper and smear some of this blood onto it, you should work the same and buy the witch to the deal. When we break the rules, she'll have to show up to collect. Then, well... killer. Al shot me a dirty luck. Are you insane? Another one of Henry's misguided tightrope walks? Glad I'm alive to see this one. We don't know the conditions of the spell. There could

be more to it than this. You want to risk it backfiring, or worse, yet actually working and us getting ourselves killed by the most powerful which we've ever gone up against? As the words rolled off his tongue, I sensed the excitement in his voice. He was dying to work in another case after being on Hunter's life. for all these years. Al, are you in or not? He turned his head for a moment and then turned back to meet my gaze.

You bet I am. Another week of research from gathering materials later, we had what we needed. Witch-killing instruments, stakes soaked in the Dead Sea and welding torches, and a new list of rules uniquely equipped for Al's cottage. Number one,

all lights off by 1041 p.m. Number two, leave the bedroom door closed at all times. Number three, do not step outside after sunset. Number four, if anyone knocks on the front door at 3.45pm, do not answer it. Number five, if your television is on, do not tune it to Channel 9. After spreading a sample of blood from the previous list on the back corner, we got to work, breaking as many rules as we could 12 hours passed we had all the lights on

open the bathroom door tune the TV to channel 9 which was just plain static and walked outside after sunset then we waited for the inevitable knock at the door it never came we waited

and waited and waited sitting on the sofa with stakes and torches in hand but there was no activity none whatsoever Even without the knocking, something should have happened. We'd broken four of the five rules. At two in the morning, Al turned to me and shook his head.

Looks like he was a bust, kid. Just as I was about to swallow my failure and admit defeat, a gust of wind pushed a front door open and a clean-cuped man in his 50s. Gray hair, grey mustache, waltzed in with a smile on his face. He looked as though it was a male witch after all Hello boys looking for me Alan and I raced over and pushed our stakes through him There was no effect

We then held our torches up and attempted to burn his skin Again, no reaction This was not good With a flick of his wrist The man was able to swing us through the air And pin us against the opposite walls fire an unseen force. No spell recited. Just pure, powerful magic. Is that any way to treat a guest? He tried to break free, but it was no use. I didn't have to show up, you know. Using my blood was a good

idea, but your list was voided the moment the ink touched the page. Without my handwriting, the things useless. He cackled as we squirmed. I just couldn't resist seeing this for myself, two humans meddling in my affairs, attempting to draw me as of hiding, whatever did you think you would accomplish? He shut the door behind him, walked over, and sat down on the sofa where we had previously been seated. And the stakes and fire? What a great laugh that was. You know, as a powerful witch, I can ward myself from just about anything. With enough soul shards, you can pretty much render yourself invincible. And, I have plenty to spare.

What do you want? I screamed out, impatient as ever. Al looked at me, wide-eyed, almost as if to say, what the hell do you think you're doing? Punishment, of course. You may not have broken the rules of one of my actual contracts, but that doesn't mean I can't doll out some just desserts. Just then, there was a knock at the door.

What's this? The witch said in a delighted tone. It looks as though we have more guests. Please come in. The door swung open and two figures walked in. Two figures I recognised. It was none other than my uncle and Al's wife. They walked over to us and the witch released his hold on us.

Aren't you happy to see your loved ones back from the dead? Without warning, their forms changed. Their fingernails changed the claws that bent and curved towards the carpet. Their mouths opened at unnatural angles, revealing rows of sharp teeth that protruded outward. Finally, their eyes met at the centre of their heads, creating a single pool of yellow light swirling into itself. A life all its own. Then, they attacked. Al and I jumped and darted around the room.

But it was no use. They were too fast and their arms too long. No matter what we did, they kept pulling on us and tearing away at our flesh, bit by bit. Before long, we were both being tightly squeezed in their arms, our pain cries echoing through the house. Oh, what's wrong? Don't you humans live for tender embraces? It doesn't get any more loving than this. Just as her spines were about to break. Al, did the unthinkable.

wait, I want to make a deal. All at once, the creatures loosen their grip, and the witch spoke, just as surprised as I was. Oh, now that's something I didn't expect. Tell me, Al, what did you have in mind? A piece of your soul for your safety? Sorry, but that just ain't worth it. I'd rather see you bleed.

Al looked over at me. A single droplet rolled down his cheek. Let the kid go. You can take me now. The whole damn soul. It's yours. The creature's vanished and the witch's face lit up. Ow, what are you doing?

You can't... The witch put his fingers together and my mouth is clamped shut. Sorry, kid. I'm getting too old for this. I'm tired. My wife's gone. My daughter's gone. You're the only family I have left.

The witch chimed in. You have yourself a deal. Al looked over to me one last time with a smile. At this point, my face was soaked in tears. I never blamed you. I may not be your dad, but I would have been so proud to call you my son. And with that, they disappeared, and I never saw them again. I fell to the floor, breathless.

It was over. There was nothing I could do. Somehow, some way, that witch will die. I will bleed his corpse, rip apart the flesh, bury the bones and salt the earth if I have to. And I'll tell you what, I'm going to save Al while I'm at it. Whatever it takes, mark my words.