CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I’m a Private Train Conductor. These Are the Rules I Have to Follow" Creepypasta

Episode Date: April 29, 2025

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saint ZanderCreepypastas 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

The job offer came as an email with no company logo, no send her information beyond a string of numbers, and a subject line that just read, Conductor position, private contract. I'd been out of work for months, barely scraping by, and scam emails for nothing new. But when I opened it, the details made me pause. The pay was astronomical. six times what I'd ever made running freight trains for a single ride. The hours were vague, but the message emphasized discretion, reliability, and the ability to work alone. There was a number at the bottom.

I called, half expecting a disconnected line or a robotics scam message. Instead, a man answered on the first ring. He introduced himself only as a recruiter for a private client and asked if I was available to meet the next day. No company name, no office address, just a location. A roadside diner off a highway. I went off course. The diner was nearly empty when I arrived.

The man was waiting for me, sitting at a booth near the back. He wore a black suit. a crisp tie to match and a dull expression. He didn't even introduce himself properly, just gestured for me to sit. There wasn't any small talk. He slid a contract across the table. You'll receive a list of instructions, he said, voice flat. Read them on your job site.

They are non-negotiable. Uh, all right, what kind of instructions? a pause, then I tried again. I looked up at the recruiter. What kind of train is this? His expression didn't change. Just follow the instructions. Everything else is self-explanatory.

Then he pointed to something in the middle of the contract, a single bolded line. If you break any instructions, Press the red button on the centre console immediately. Someone will tell you what to do. I almost laughed. And if they don't? The recruiter didn't blink or say a word, just stared. After a long silence, he tapped the contract again.

Sign. The private station was nothing like I expected. It was tucked away in a dead-end road beyond an industrial lot. surrounded by rusted fences and half-collapsed buildings. No signs or employees, just the set of old but pristine tracks and a sleek, immaculate train waiting for me in the dark. The train looked like it belonged in a billionaire's collection, long, streamlined, gleaming under the dim platform lights.

The exterior was spotless, not a single scratch or sign of wear. I boarded the conductor's entrance and stepped into the control cabin. The cabin smelled like fresh polish. Every dial, switch and lever was perfectly placed, modern yet oddly unfamiliar. There was no dust, not a single clue to indicate this train had ever actually been used. The chair was stiff and the seatbelt untouched. And the passenger cars were almost completely. completely empty. No boarding crew or a bit of luggage here and there. No clients were anywhere

to be seen. I had no idea where I was going, who owned this train or what I was transporting, if anything. I sat down on the chair and picked up a laminated sheet sitting on top of the control panel. The instructions. The train must never stop, no matter what happens, keep me. moving. Do not open any passenger doors. No one should be on board. If you hear knocking from inside an empty car, ignore it. If someone appears on the tracks, do not slow down. Do not look at them in the rearview mirror. At exactly 2.13 a.m., turn off all cabin lights for three minutes, do as instructed thereafter. If the intercom comes on but no one speaks, respond by saying, we are on schedule, then do not speak again for exactly

five minutes. One of the train cars will be filled with passengers. Do not acknowledge them, do not look at them, do not enter the car. If you see someone sitting on the conductor's seat when you return from a break, leave the train immediately. You will not be able to board again. You may see another train running parallel to yours. If this happens, do not look at it for longer than ten seconds. If you break an instruction, press the red button immediately. Someone will call you with further instructions. I read them once, then again. My first thought was, what kind of sick joke is this? I glanced around the cabin, expecting camera, as some hidden speaker system

ready to blare out a voice laughing at my reaction. But I was only met with ornate and beautiful decorations that adorn the corners and walls of the control cabin. I scoffed, shaking my head. I'd heard of companies testing

new hires to see how much crap they'd put up with, but I wasn't sure. I scared tactic maybe, some over-the-top way to keep conducting focused on the job. But why the hell were they need to? It's a train. You follow the schedule, watch the tracks, and keep things moving.

What was all this about knocking doors and not looking at passengers? I rubbed my temples. Whatever. If they wanted me to play along, I'd play along. As long as the paycheck cleared, they could put all the weird rules they wanted. The train pulled out of the station smoothly, gliding over the tracks with barely a tremor. The engine was quieter than anything I'd operated before. Smooth to the point, I couldn't even tell when I was moving when I closed my eyes. I barely had to touch the controls.

For the first hour, not much to note happened. Just endless stretches of empty fields and dense forests rolling past under the dim glow of the moon. The rails were calming. For a moment, I actually thought this might be the easiest job I'd ever had. Then, the intercom crackled. A burst of static, sharp and sudden filled the cabin. I turned instinctively, waiting for an announcement, for some kind of instruction. I frowned, tapping.

the panel, flipping a few switches to clear the channel. Still, nothing. My eyes wondered to the list of rules sitting next to me. Number six, if the intercom comes on but no one speaks, respond by saying, we are on schedule, then do not speak again for exactly five minutes. I almost hesitated. It was stupid, right? a dumb corporate rule, a test to see if I would comply, I was sure of it.

I cleared my throat. We, uh, we are on schedule. Something had changed. But I couldn't tell what it was immediately. Some sort of pressure started rubbing against my skin. The hum of the engine felt further away, like I was sinking underwater while everything else drifted above me. I stared straight ahead, forcing myself to focus on the tracks.

Four minutes. The longer I sat there, the worse it got. My head started ringing and I couldn't keep my eyes focused. Three minutes. The hairs and my arms stood up. The air smelled different now, charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm. Two minutes. I was entirely hitched in place.

One minute. The feeling passed. Just like that, the weight lifted. The engine sounded normal again. I checked the clock. Five minutes exactly. I exhaled slowly. What the hell was that?

My mind started wondering with ideas from conspiracy theory documentaries I've been watching, brainwashing people into specific radio waves and such, but I brushed it aside and kept moving. The train sped forward, the night stretched out ahead of me. A blur of movement flashed just ahead, right as I was starting to relax, and put the strange feeling aside. I concentrated as the shape moved out of the trees to the left and right onto the tracks, fast enough that I couldn't properly register it.

The headlights cut across the rails, and my stomach lurched. Someone was standing right on the tracks. A man. His clothes were loose, billowing in the wind, even though the night was clear. His outline was blurry, but I was closing in on him quickly. He didn't move. My fingers twitched toward the brakes. I had to stop.

I remembered. Number four. If someone appears in the tracks, do not slow down. Do not look at them in the rearview mirror. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to hit the brakes, but I willed myself to stop. I don't know what made me think hitting a man with a train was going to be justified by any instruction or rule. but I had no time for second thoughts.

The train plowed through him, no impact or thud. I looked around, panicking. I couldn't believe what I'd just done. My heart hammered, and I snapped my gaze to the rearview camera. Then stop myself. I couldn't look.

I forced my eyes back to the controls, gripping the levers tightly. The train rattled. slightly as it shot forward, speeding into the black. I let go of the levers, pulse raising. It was fine, just the trick of the light, a stray thought getting tangled with the night. If I had actually hit something,

the results would have been catastrophic. I was going 95 miles per hour. A train this size going at that speed would make some sort of noise hitting even a leaf. I led out a slow breath, trying to shake the tension off, reminding myself of the money waiting for me at the end of it. These rules were making me forget that I'd been doing this exact job for years. This was going to be no different. I was just nervous and overanalyzed everything, so I guess the rules worked.

My mind started to wonder. There was much to do while the train ran, just miles of dark, empty landscape stretching out ahead. My mind drifted, skimming over the rows of dials and switches, then settling almost absentmindedly on the passenger monitors. Someone was sitting in one of the previously empty chairs. Same loose, billowing clothes, same blurred, indistinct face, the same man I'd seen on the tracks. I blinked hard. What? I had checked the entire train before departing. Every car was empty. I would have seen him. There was no way I missed someone. Had he been here the whole time? There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe I'd just been too focused on the start-up sequence going through the motions without really seeing the empty cars. It wouldn't have been the first time. Or maybe I'd just spaced out. Long haul conductors do it all the time

You get used to the routine Your mind drifts And things blur together Yeah That was it Didn't matter Chances were This was some rich big shot I was transporting

And he wanted a train all to himself Maybe even hid from me somehow on purpose I shook the tension from my hands And calmed down The train was moving, everything was running, and I even had a passenger now. I knew what I was transporting. As long as I followed the schedule, I'd be fine. Outside, the world slipped by in streaks of dark green and silver, thick forest, stretching

endlessly into the night. The hum of the engine filled the cabin, steady and even, a rhythmic pulse beneath my fingertips, miles of emptiness ahead, miles of emptiness behind, then out of nowhere, a slow, steady, tap, tap, tap, against one of the cabin doors. I straightened in my seat, eyes flicking toward the control panel. The passenger cars were still empty, apart from the man. Nothing had changed. and yet the knocking persisted.

I re-read the rules. Rule three. If you hear knocking from inside an empty car, ignore it. I did my best to focus forward, pretending it wasn't happening. But the knocking grew louder. Bam, bam, bam. Like someone was hammering their fists against the metal,

trying to break through, desperate. I felt a sensation in my chest, a deep frustration. I was tired, I was irritated, and I was done playing along with these stupid rules. They had driven me to such delusion that I thought I'd hit someone. I stood up, my boots thudded against the floor as I strode back into the passenger cabins, heart pounding as I followed the sound. The knocking led me to car six. I hesitated.

The rule says to ignore it. I inhaled sharply, my hand hovering over the latch. What was I expecting? A prank, a malfunctioning door? If it was any of those, I was entirely ready for the consequences. These rules were taking a toll on me, making me imagine things that weren't even there. I just break this one rule, prove myself right, and get on with my shift. I unlatched the lock and swung the door open.

The cabin was completely empty. No people, no luggage, no sign of life at all, except for the footprints, they stretch. stretched across the floor in a perfect trail, starting right in front of me and disappearing into the next car. The footprints were dirty, muddy, like someone had just stepped inside. A shiver crawled up my spine, a feeling deep inside me screaming that I had just made a mistake. Before that thought could fully manifest, I was thrown off balance. The train started slowing down.

The air around me lurched and I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself. The train was losing speed, but I hadn't touched anything. I spun, rushing back to the control cabin, my breath coming faster now. My eyes flick to the dashboard. Every system was still active. The speed should have been constant, but the train was steadily slowing down. down. The radio crackled again, a burst of static, followed by a voice, warped and distorted, like it was dragging itself through the speakers.

Why did you stop? My balls hammered against my ribs. I didn't. The brakes weren't engaged. The emergency systems weren't triggered. The train was stopping on its own. I grabbed the controls, yanking the throttle, trying to force it back to speed. It wouldn't respond. Outside the front window, the landscape crawled by slower and slower until the train finally, completely halted. Silence. Shortly after.

Movement. Beyond the trees, just at the edge of the dim platform lights, figures were emerging from the darkness. Dozens of them. Tall and thin, the limbs stretching at unnatural angles as they moved toward the train in slow, balanced steps. Not rushing, just walking. A mechanical hiss cut through everything.

I snapped my head toward the monitors, a cold pit forming in my stomach. The train doors were open. Once again, I hadn't touched the controls. My hands were still clenched around the throttle, my knuckles white. The system hadn't even indicated a stop. We weren't supposed to stop. And yet, the door slid open smoothly.

Outside, the figures stepped forward. One by one, they emerged from the trees, their shapes flickering against the dim glow of the trains lights. They moved like they had all the time in the world. The first one stepped inside, then another and another, filling the empty cars. I could see them on the monitors, standing in the aisles, in the seats, occupying every available space, yet never moving. I swore quietly, my fingers flying over the dashboard, searching for every available space, yet never moving. I swore quietly, my fingers flying over the dashboard, searching for every ever. anything, some kind of override, an emergency restart, a fail-safe.

Nothing worked. I tried the radio, I flipped the breakers, I jam the throttle forward. No results. Outside, the figures had started boarding. The doors remained open. None of the figures did anything, but stare blankly forward. I felt panic rise up in my chest. Real panic.

My pulse roared in my ears. Why is the train not moving? My eyes darted to the red button. I slammed my palm against it. The radio crackled a life instantly. Hello? My voice came out sharp, panicked. I didn't do anything.

The train stopped on its own. You broke a rule. My throat tightened, but before I could say anything, the voice continued. Do not acknowledge them. They are the passengers now. Keep driving until the last stop, and do not break any more rules. Stay vigilant. A low clunk echoed through the cabin.

The door slid shut. I tried moving the train again, and as smoothly as the fuller, first time, it started moving forward. I press my lips together, keeping my gaze locked forward. The intercoms stayed silent, and the train sped back into the night. The tension never left my body. My fingers remain locked around the controls, stiff and aching, my forearms hurting from the strain. I refused to look back, not even a glance. There was an overwhelming sense that if I did, if I so much as acknowledged their existence again, I would not be in for a good time.

After a while of total stillness, monotony and paranoia from my end, something shifted at the very edge of my vision, moving alongside the train, keeping perfect pace. another flicker, a break in the darkness. A second train was running parallel to mine. The sight of it made no sense. There had been no crossings or signals that another set of tracks even existed beside my own.

Yet there it was, keeping speed effortlessly, its steel body gleaming under the faint moonlight, and through the windows. I saw figures. They appeared dark, the interior shrouded in shadow. But as I looked closer, I realised there were dozens of them, maybe more, pressed harshly against the glass, each one wearing the same wide grin. Their faces were frozen, their eyes locked directly at mine.

They looked just like the passengers that had just joined my own train. Number 9. If you see another train running parallel to yours, do not look at it for longer than 10 seconds. I wouldn't make the same mistake again. The presence of the other train lingered in my periphery, but I didn't acknowledge it again. I just kept driving. The intercom shot to life. The sudden burst of static made my shoulders jump, the tension in my body snapping tight. For a moment, there was only empty noise, the same cold emptiness that had filled the radio the last time I pressed the red button. Look at the time. Slowly, I glanced at the digital clock on the control panel.

2.12 a.m. Number 5. At exactly 2.13 a.m. turn off all cabin lights for three minutes. do is instructed thereafter. I paused and reached for the switch. My fingers trembled slightly as I flipped it down. The cabin was plunged into absolute darkness. I blinked trying to adjust, but there wasn't anything to adjust to.

It was so dark that everything was swallowed whole. No outlines, no faint glimmers of control lights, no reflection of the window, just a void. The intercom came through again. This time there was no prelude to it. Just a clear, short sentence, Do not move. A new sound filled the air.

I heard it before I felt it. A slow, painful movement against the metal floor. Not footsteps, but something dragging itself. forward, joints popping, a strange, slithering scrape beneath the clatter of the train. Whatever was making that noise, it was in the cabin with me. Then, came the wheezing. It was deep and uneven, like whatever it was, had several lungs that were inhaling in staggered burst. Each breath pulled at the air, fill in the cabin with the air. with a thick, humid heat that stuck to my skin like mucus.

The smell followed her second later. It wasn't like anything I'd ever encountered before. It was sharp, medicinal almost, but undercut with a sticky sour scent, like burnt plastic mixed with harsh chemicals. The stench made me want to throw up, but I kept perfectly motionless. It crawled closer still, shifting near the control panel, sniffing, its breath rasping

against the levers. A single clawed scrape against the console made my entire body lock up. It circled me, the warmth of its breath shifting from one side to the other, something brushing against my shoulder, but not quite touching. chest burst, but I didn't dare do so much as exhale. Three minutes. I counted in my head, trying not to let panic take hold. I couldn't move, I couldn't react.

I could only sit there, locked in place, as whatever was inside the cabin decided whether or not I was worth noticing, in a split second with no sound at all. gone. The heat in the air lifted, the smell faded. A low click. The cabin lights flickered back on. I was still too terrified to move, unwilling to take any chances. After a while, I was confident enough to adjust myself in my chair. I shoved down the lingering nausea and pressed my hands against my lap, trying to stop them from shaking. The digital clock blinked. 2.16 a.m.

I saw the words appear in the main display. Final stop. Arrival imminent. The station lights emerged from the darkness ahead, cold and unwelcoming, but still the most welcoming thing possible to me. The train didn't slow as it approached. I calmly pulled the brake. but it wouldn't budge.

We were getting closer. I pulled the lever until my arms felt like they'd rip off my body. I fumbled with the controls, smashing the red button into my palm throbbed. But nothing gave. We rushed toward the platform at a great speed. I didn't know what to do. adrenaline surged through my body as my leg started shaking.

And before I could even take precaution, impact. The first jolt sent me flying forward, slamming my chest into the console. A crunch from inside me followed. It hurts so badly, I thought I'd die then and there.

The windshield shattered, a steel and concrete collided, the deafening snap of metal ripping through the cabin. The sound was unbearable. Screeching, tearing, the agonized wail of the train collapsing in on itself. Sparks exploded across my vision as the front cars crumpled like a soda can,

the force of the impact buckling the walls inward. The entire world turned sideways. I was thrown backward, hitting the wall before rolling onto the floor. My ears rang, my ribs ached. The air was thick with smoke and dust, filling my lungs with every ragged breath. Somewhere beyond the ringing in my skull, I could hear the train's last, desperate groans, the final shuddering lurch as it came to a violent, grinding halt. I lay there, stunned, my hands trembling against the cold floor. I was still alive. Somehow, despite the crash, despite the sheer destruction I just experienced,

I was fine. Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up. The cabin was... Intact. No shattered glass, no twisted wreckage, no collapsed walls. The train sat perfectly parked at the station, as if it never even moved at all. The console was unscathed, the windshield unbroken. Even the faint hum of the engine had returned.

steady, like it had been running this whole time. But I knew what I felt, the bruises forming on my arms. I had been in that crash. My injuries weren't as fatal as I was sure they were just moments ago, but the train had collided with the station, had collapsed around me, that I was sure of. Yet here I was unharmed. I turned toward the passenger monitors to see empty rows of seats.

The train finally rid of its impossible travellers. My stomach tightened the moment my eyes landed on him. The figures from earlier had all disappeared, but the man remained. His clothes waved around as he walked. There was a fluid grace to him as he rose from his seat and began walking forward. His movements were so smooth they were hypnotizing. My body tensed, my instincts screaming at me to move, to run, to get out before something happened that I couldn't undo. I staggered toward the door, but it was locked.

No matter how much I pulled or pushed, I couldn't open it. The weight of the moment was suffocating, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I finally had a moment of clarity, and I realised just how wrong everything had gone. I snapped out of my days and slammed my hand against the red button. The radio remained silent. I hit it again, harder this time, my palms sweating against the plastic. No response. The man kept walking.

I pressed the button again. Harder, desperation crawled up my throat like bile. The doors behind me opened. A deep mechanical noise filled the cabin as the last remaining entrance slid open with an agonizing slowness, revealing an empty black void beyond it. He stepped into the conductor's cabin. I was trapped. My back pressed against the console, every muscle in my body locked in place as he stopped

just a few feet from me. Up close, his shape was even more wrong, his proportion slightly off, his arms too long, his posture just a fraction too rigid. It was like someone had built the idea of a man without ever having seen one, a close approximation that almost fit, but missed something fundamental. For the first time, he turned his head slightly, as if acknowledging me directly. An inner voice there was neither deep nor high, neither young nor old, neither kind or cruel. He spoke, Thank you for the ride.

He looked at me a moment longer, his featureless face betraying no emotion. Then, without another word, he turned and opened the conductor room door, the one that I couldn't open no matter how hard I tried, and stepped out. A new sound pulled my attention away. Footsteps. I turned toward the platform. The recruiter was waiting. His hands were clasped neatly in front of him. I practically jumped out of my seat.

and straight toward the man. Who? What the hell was that? What the hell was I transporting? What just happened? The recruiter didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced past me toward the train, his gaze lingering on the now empty cars.

He exhaled a barely there sound before finally speaking. What did you think of the job? There's another ride scheduled for, tomorrow night. You did a splendid job bringing the train all the way to the last stop. I quit, I rasped, my voice roar. I don't care about the money. I don't care about whatever this is. I'm done. The recruiter smiled, not smugly though, just a warm and welcoming smile. Then he gave me a slow nod. You were transporting the dare.

I didn't ask any more questions. As absurd as what he had said just sounded, I was too tired to care or rationalise anything else. I walked away from the train, from the recruiter, from the nightmare I had barely survived. I just knew one thing for certain. I would never set foot on a train again.