CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I’m a ranger with one simple job- Do not allow anything to escape the hole" Creepypasta

Episode Date: March 22, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Darkly_Gathers: 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►Ainsley Langford: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/WK...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 circle of forest is just that. A circle. About 750 metres in diameter. It's not particularly big. It is ringed by two metres of grassless rock, and then beyond that is the wilderness. Moss and fern and cliff and weeds. The trees and plants that grow inside the circle are thick and strange. It's raining this evening.

I sit in my little hut with a mug of warm tea as the rain batters and clouds. It leaks through in one corner and drips quickly down into a bucket of place there. My rifle rests against my leg. My hut has a direct view to the centerpiece of the forest, a dark, cave-like hole in the middle of a clearing, descending down into the unknown. I tried to go through it once, but my head began to pound the deeper I went down, to the point of agony, actually, and I was forced to retreat. I don't go down there anymore.

Not much point to it. My colleague joins me tonight. He sips from a mug of his own. Ah, he says with a pleasant smile. Delicious. Nothing like a warm mug on a cold day. Mm-hmm, I reply, scratching my beard. What do you think might be coming up tonight?

He asks. Who could tell? Nothing, hopefully. It's been a while since the last one. He murmurs, we're overdue a visitor. Yeah, I suppose we are, I sigh. Visitor is a darkly comical way to refer to the things that clamber out of the hole, coined because of how crushingly lonely it can get at this particular station.

I've been here for three months now, another three to go. But of course, I have Robbie here with me tonight. Someone to talk to. I've missed him. The rain splashes through the leaves and into the undergrowth, and I take a final sip before setting the mug down onto the wooden little table with a low thunk. I rise to my feet. Right, let's head a little closer, shall we? Ah, he mutters, glancing out the doorway.

Into the rain? You know it, brother. He sighs. Fine, are we going to spit up or sticking together this time? It's a no-brainer. We'll stick together, I tell him. I clap him on the shoulder and gesture for the man to head outside. You know how I can get lonely.

He chuckles. Right you are, men. And out he goes, rifle in hand. I hoist up my own and out I go. The water is splashing against my hood and my shoulders as we push through the undergrowth and a little closer towards the hole. The reason for this little pursuit outdoors, is the rain itself. It is, unfortunately, obscuring our view. And whilst on a clear day, I might be content to just sit in the hut and wait for one of the senses that trigger.

I also don't fully trust the sensor's effectiveness in such weather. So, out we go. The ferns brush up against my camera-clad legs as we approach the clearing, and we take our positions beside the best lookout trees. Robbie is a little off, though. "'Hey,' I say to him, above the rush of rain. "'He looks up at me. "'Wake up, man. You can be seen from there. Back up a little.' He chuckles and rubs his head. "'Of course, right you are.

We settle down and we wait, and we watch, as water pulls and puddles around the hole in the ground ahead. It's surrounded by tumbled rock and stone, though I couldn't say from where. There isn't another rock of such size in the whole circle of forest. Perhaps someone moving there, long, long ago. It's been another 20 minutes before anything stirs from the hole. Robbie and I just spend the time chatting nonsense. I just think you'd be so much happier if you quit this businessman. Robbie says to me, being isolated for such long periods of time,

it's not healthy. How long you got left? Three months, I tell him. So six months total? Have a year in such a place as this? Robbie shakes his head. You need to be around people. Humans are social creatures.

Perhaps, I grunt. Robbie opens his mouth to say more, but I cut him off with a quick gesture, pointing to the hole. We both creep a little lower in our position and watch as a shadow begins to shamble its way from the depths of the hole. The thing is covered in slime

and chatters as it appears. Armoured, brown and disgusting. Two tiny, beady eyes peer out as its antennae twitch and circle around. It rose upon rows of sharp legs clatter over the rock and slice down into the wet grass and the mud. I feel a swell of revulsion rise up in my stomach, but it's okay. These types are always the easiest. I raise my rifle, Robbie does likewise, and the abomination is riddled with quick holes.

Its shell and flesh bursting out of the undergrowth as it screeches in fury. And I suppress a gag. Disgusting, Robbie mutters. Where the hell do these things even come from? I don't bother responding. It's a question we've asked each other countless times over the years. I have my theories. From amidst the ruin of the centipede-like creature and out from the hole comes a deer.

He raises his head and sniffs the air. I raised the rifle, and the deer bolts, bouncing and speeding away over the undergrowth. Damn it, I shout, hesitating as I look between the deer and my colleague. I pointed him. Watch the damn hole, I'll be back. Yeah, chance would be a fine thing, but the deer is the priority for now. I take off between the trees after it. I raise the gun and fire, exploding a branch as I do so.

The deer still hops steadily away. They aren't usually this fast these things. I stumble after it, leaping over ferns and bushes, and the deer makes the mistake of turning sideways to try and run away from me. I take the opportunity to raise the rifle to my shoulder, firing again with a better chance of hitting, and this time I strike. Black fluid bursts from the deer's side, and a strangled, decidedly non-deer-like noise escapes his throat as it crashes down to the ground with the rustle of ferns. I wipe the rain and sweat

from my forehead and turn instantly back, chest rising and falling as I hastily return to the clearing. I approach from the opposite side this time and I raise the hand to Robbie. But just as I expected, the man isn't looking. His interest is elsewhere, staring off into the woods. He rises to his feet. Robbie, I shouted him, and he swivels to look at me. Are you watching the hole? The man does not respond, and movement at the clearing's edge catches both our attentions. An anxious-looking man with a backpack and waterproof trousers shuffles out from between the trees.

I crumple map in one hand. Ah, hello, he says, looking between Robbie and I. I raised my rifle at once, and Robbie does like to do. I begin making my way around the clearing's edge towards my colleague. Barrel of the weapon fixed carefully on the stranger. Oh, hey, he says an alarm, putting up his hands. I don't understand. You guys are rangers, right?

I'm not a poacher or anything like that. He pauses out an awkward laugh. I'm just lost. Honestly, literally, I'm literally lost. Where are you from? I ask him. I'm sorry? The man replies.

adjusting his glasses. I didn't realize I had an accent. A poor attempt at a joke, another weak laugh. Tell me where you're from right now or I'll blow your head off. I tell the stranger plainly as I reached my position beside Robbie. Speak clearly. I'm from Ubdbrend, the man mutters. What? I reply, jerking the rifle. I said speak clearly. I... Abderbrend, the man replies, raising his voice. The terror in his face quite evident. That... That isn't a real place, I tell him.

What country? I don't... What damn country? This country, obviously. Please, this isn't funny. Just let me go all right. I'll find my own way, please. I exchange a look with Robbie.

Tell me the name of any country hiker. That's all I want to know. The man shakes where he stands as the rain pours down to the trees. He stutters and mutters, and eventually he manages to speak, though his words are a string of nonsense. I take quick aim and pull the trigger, and a hole appears in the centre of the man's forehead. He drops like a brick as black fluid burst and spurts from his face. His skin twitching and crawling as a massive insect-like leg burst from his root cage.

I spit on the ground. Jesus, Robbie murmurs. I consider chiding the man for allowing the creature through, but there's no point really, so I let it go. The corpse twitches in the grass beneath the rain. Obdebrent, Rob repeat. Do you think it's a real place, or did he just make it up? A random combination of sounds?

Who can say, man? I reply, shrugging. Your guess is as good as mine. Robbie says nothing further. We sit side by side and watch the hole for another 30 minutes. We are quieter this time. But still, it's nice just to have his company. The rain falls. I gotta take a leak, man.

Robbie says, breaking the silence. He clambers to his feet. Hey, well, don't go too far. Just pee right there. Hey? I need you alert and active man. Just pee right there. Robbie hesitates and gives me a look before shaking his head.

All right, man, I try not to turn around too fast. I wouldn't want to hit you with my dick and knock you out. I chuckle as he relieves himself against the tree. A chuckle, which is quite lost as a horde of shadowy beings begins scampering out of the hole. Action, Robbie, I tell him. Quick, stay alert. The shadowy beings quickly take shape through the rain.

they are all exact copies of myself They don't make a break for the exit They run to me Damn Soldier one of the copies shouts into my face Grabbing me by the shoulders Jesus thank God you're alive Right come with us immediately

There's still time to get you to safety I shove him away and raise the rifle My copy stares at the barrel Then at me and then swears and throws out his hands. Again, for goodness sake, why does he keep doing this? He turns to another of my copies and gives him a light shove in the chest. Why won't he just come back? What are we doing wrong?

I choose not to partake in this little piece of theatre. I take aim and fire, bursting a hole in my copy's neck. Initially, the blood is red, which is rather worrying. but it quickly runs black as he falls gasping to the floor. The other coppers of myself all retreat and panic. There are five more of them. Robbie, one of them shouts, gesturing to my colleague. Tell him to come back already.

We can't keep doing this. Robbie stutters and mutters, and I fire. The copy's head bursts open. Down he goes. Two of the surviving copies attempt to hasty retreat, back to the hole, which I find interesting, but not interesting enough to spare them. Down they go, one after the other. Bang, bang!

Two left now. They look at each other, and the closest holds out of hand to me. Listen, he says carefully as I reload. I know this seems impossible and scary. He's right. I'm utterly terrified, though I'm doing my best not to show it. These things really are getting creative But you have to trust us on this

Or at least hear us out Please, do you have any idea how long you've been gone The other copy shouts in anger He's not going to listen It's just like the last time The closest copy stares right into my eyes I don't care what the others say He tells me

I will never leave you behind I swore it once and it's a promise I intend to Bang I blow the imposter the kingdom come. His comrade panics and slips on the wet grass as he tries to run, and I gun him down. His lifeless body thuds to the ground, his skin twitching in various and unsettling places, as if being pressed or stretched from the inside. I put a couple of bonus bullets in him for good

measure. Robbie looks over to me and studies my face. Are you good, man? He asks after a moment. Yeah, I reply, lying. Yeah, I stare at the faces of my copies. Corpses now. I try not to dwell on it. I glance over to Robbie.

Perhaps I've let this little charade go on for too long. Robbie pales and stares right past me at the hole. I turn to follow his gaze. Three figures clamber out One waving a white flag Wait One calls above the roar of the rain I squint through it for a better look

Don't shoot It's me again Another copy Though this one is at least two decades older A copy of Robbie is with him Similarly aged A girl in her thirties walks with him

A fearful expression on her face and her hands raised. It's my daughter. A sick copy, at the least, and aged up like the others. I throw my hands out, exasperated. What do you want? Listen to me, you fool, my elder copy shouts back. This is the real me, the real you, and this is the real Robbie, the real Robbie.

He puts her hand on the copy of Robbie's shoulder, and the other are my daughters. She stares at me, wide-eyed. He looks so young, she says. She calls over. Dad, it's me. Do you remember? Please tell me you remember. Remember, we took the trip to the beach.

You took us to the coast on my 10th birthday. We saw dolphins. She reaches up to a neck and lifts a necklace with a smooth little shiny pebble attached. You let me keep this pebble. We had to turn into a necklace. Things are about to do. change, my copy says to me, walking ever closer. Things beyond your understanding, and the truths of his whole barely scratch the surface. It's a passage, I think you've realized this,

a passage to places beyond and between. Sometimes to other planes, yes, but the tunnel runs deep, and they loop back around. He slams his hand to his chest. I'm babbling. I appreciate that this might not make it any sense to you. But we can't. are from the same loop, the same path looped back around. I take a deep breath. I look this madman in the eyes, with a scent of the rain-washed pine and the drift of rifle smoke in my nose. I take aim,

and I fire. Bang, my so-called future self drops to the ground. My daughter screams, and the elder copy of Robbie drops to his knees at the corpse. No, no, He cries, and I take him out as well. The copy of my daughter is the hardest. Shaking where she stands, she turns to stare at me, defiant,

daring me to shoot her in cold silence. It doesn't have to be this way, she says, her voice wavering. I chew my tongue, and then I call her bluff. Bang. Down she goes. Just another leaking corpse. Robbie stares at the ruined bodies. The trees rustle in the rain as the blasts of the rifle ring in our ears.

He looks to me. How do you do it? He murmurs. How the hell do you do it? I rub a sleeve across my eyes. Do not allow anything to escape. I tell him, it's a rule for a reason. You do it so easily, he says,

quietly, the disgust in his voice quite clear. Is that what you think? I ask him. I turned to face him. My jaw set as the rain leaks from my chin. Tell me, Robbie. Tell me if what I'm doing is wrong. Should I be letting these things and these abominations out into the world? And where do they come from exactly? If where they're coming from is so great, then why leave at all? If there's something worse that's pushing them away, then that's all the more incentive to just keep shooting. I don't know which one of these horrors is the worst, so better safe than sorry.

What if they have something important to tell us? He asks me. Important? Screw him. It's all tricks and lies. The second I let my guard down, I'm lost. And speaking of which, I raise the rifle and point it at his head. He backs away.

Wait, hold on. He laughs anxiously, then stops when he realizes that I am not. not getting around. You've gone mad, he says simply. You've lost yourself. In your head. It's me. It's Robbie.

If the things that come out of the ground are benevolent, then why do they all lie, Robbie? Why do they lie? I don't know what you're talking about. Oh, I think you do, my friend. I cocked the rifle. I've enjoyed your company tonight. I really have.

You're a strong imitation. I'll give you that. But you've missed a crucial piece of information. You always miss something. Robbie is dead, long dead. Died two years ago. He died defending the people of this place from an abomination that rose out of that yonder hole. So, I'll be seeing you now.

Robbie's face contorts into shock and surprise. Please, he begins. And I put a bullet through his forehead with a loud bang. He crumbles, down he goes, just like the rest of them, that terrible black fluid pouring out and over the grass. Oversized, yet still only half-formed insect legs burst from his shoulders and neck, twitching in the rain. I lift my face to the sky and take a slow, deep breath.

When Robbie first appeared to me this evening from through the trees, I too was surprised to react. It was a potentially fatal mistake, but for one reason or another, the copy did not use his rifle to shoot me. If he was going to use it to kill me, he could have done so in that very first instant. He didn't. So, after that, I just played along, keeping an eye on him. As I said, it gets real lonely up here, and I missed that man a great deal. The reins letting us, letting us up a little now. I watch as black sludge begins to bubble up from the hole's entrance, and I return to my hut, sitting down with a sigh in my chair as water drips from the branches and into the bucket beside me. The corpses will have melted away by morning. There won't be any

more visitors tonight. The black sludge means the tunnels need time to recharge. I reach for my mug and take a slow sip of cold, miserable tea. Three months down, three more to go.