CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I'm a Replenishable Organ Donor" Creepypasta

Episode Date: February 6, 2021

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I'm a replenishable organ donor. The title and itself should be an indicator of how messed up this is going to be. If anything, it's just a piece of what's happened and what's going to happen. I didn't know how all of this began. This curse. None of us did. It's been on my father's side for generations at least. He used to tell me that when I was a kid, and a few occasions where his mind was sober enough.

He had it. His father had it. His father's father had it. so forth for several centuries. None of us knew where we had gotten it from, though there's been a couple of theories circling around the family. Some claimed that a distant ancestor made a pact with the devil in exchange for it, while others theorised that is the result of some kind of genetic defect.

I didn't know for certain if involvement with the supernatural or evolution had anything to do with it, but it didn't necessarily matter. All I knew was that it was carried only through the males in the family, and if you were unfortunate enough to be born with the XY chromosome, your fate had already been decided. My old man knew the effects of the curse, as he had already suffered close to four decades because of it. He initially didn't intend on marrying my mother

solely because the thought of having an offspring with the same defect as him scared him senseless. But, as they say, the heart wants what it wants, and in his case, he had several to spare. When I was born, my mother said that my old man had a look of affection and despair of equal measure in his eyes. He was happy that I was born healthy and well, but the fact that I was born a boy was enough to make my birth a bittersweet occasion. As far as I know, my dad didn't believe in God. He had abandoned faith years ago, but he prayed that I wouldn't have the same condition as him.

Unfortunately, following a rather nasty accident when I was six, after dropping my ball in the middle of the road, his worst fears were confirmed. I don't know how bad the collision was. Hell, I don't even remember half of what happened. But according to my mother, I hardly looked human when the ambulance arrived. I'm pretty sure I was already dead at that point, but as if by a miracle, they managed to resuscitate me at the hospital with a little effort.

The doctors that initially evaluated my condition predicted that I would need several surgeries and a new set of organs if there was going to be any hope for me. But to their astonishment, not even a few weeks later, I recovered. My face returned to normal. My organs were accordingly stabilised within me, and I didn't look like I'd been in an accident at all. I was just... Fine. The doctors didn't know what to think of the situation, and my dad didn't know. Dad wouldn't let them get the chance to inspect it any closer before he had me discharged.

We drove home that day in complete silence. But when I looked at the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of my father's face, all I could see were tears streaming down from his eyes by the buckets. What's wrong, Dad? I asked, naive to the circumstances. He only said one thing. I'm sorry, son. I'm so sorry.

After that, my dad lost himself to his own. substance abuse and alcoholism. He had suffered from it for years before I was born, but after he met my mother, he had put his addictions to the side for the sake of her happiness. Following that incident, however, he relapsed and drank himself half to death

each and every night. He was never violent or abusive, even in his intoxicated state, but he was broken beyond repair. Our family tried to cope with it for a time. My mother tried her best. She really did. She knew about the curse, but she didn't understand a damn thing about it.

Despite this, she tried her best to be there for both of us, but her efforts were in vain. My dad couldn't help himself, nor could she. The years my mother spent trying to repair the family only caused her to fall into a similar hole like my dad. After five years of pulling and pushing things up, she led herself slide down the hill as well. She started leaving her house late in the evenings, sometimes not. not even returning until the day after. I knew she sought comfort in the arms of other men. And to be honest, I can't blame her for trying to find another source of happiness.

She still loved us, I knew she did. But the weight of our curse was pulling her too far down. When she was home, she was my mother, caring, thoughtful and kind. But when she was out, she was out. When I was ten, and a night when my mom was out, I woke up to the sound of running water from the bathroom down the hallway. Curiosity overtook me and I ventured down there to check it out and opened the door to find my father in the bathtub,

completely drenched in bloody water with the faucet still running. My childhood innocence came to an end when I noticed the gaping, bleeding hole in his chest and the image of his damn heart floating seemingly haphazardly in the water that would come to haunt me for years. Screaming his name, I pulled my father up for the last. the water to the best of my ability, even when my strength was the equivalent of a 20-pound dog

at that age. By some miracle, I managed to get him out of the tub and onto the bathroom floor, though I slid and bumped my head slightly against the countertop in the process. The pain was there, and I started to bleed, but all I could afford to concern myself with was my dad. I don't know how long I sat there for, screaming and pounding at him like a rabid animal with tears pouring from my eyes. The water had by then started to stream from the bathtub rooms and gather on the floor, soaking both me and my already wet father, but I didn't care.

Maybe five minutes later I heard a gasp erupt from his throat, and I froze. My dad's eyes began to flicker, and when they found mine, he started to tear up as well. Seconds later, he sat up and assessed the gaping hole in his shirt, inspecting it for any damage. I couldn't see anything at first from the amount of blood that had stained his clothes But when he opened his shirt and looked down at his chest I was shocked to see that his skin was free of any wound My dad began to cry

No, he didn't cry He was screaming He bent over the submerged floor and repeatedly slammed his knuckles against the tiles And didn't stop until his hands began to crack And bones became visible through the severed skin He was wailing like a new boy, child having just escaped their mother's womb. With the amount of blood that covered him, it actually seemed like he had just been born.

And yet, with what remained of my childlike innocence, I could already tell that he wanted nothing more, and to die. God damn it, he cried again and again. God damn it, damn it! My mind couldn't comprehend half of what he said, but all I knew was that I didn't want him to hurt himself. I desperately clung to his side. begging him to stop, but my words fell on deaf ears.

It wasn't until maybe ten minutes later that he stopped, stripped of all stamina and strength to continue his self-destructive actions. He turned to me, and the guilt that overwhelmed him was almost equal to the rage he experienced minutes before. We were both crying like children, and he wrapped his arms around me and apologized over and over again until there was no strength left in his voice to apologize with. I'm sorry, Nathan.

He said, barely the volume of a whisper. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I did this to you. I didn't know if he was apologising to me for having attempted suicide, or because of what he had unknowingly done to me by conceiving me. To this day, I still don't. But I'm willing to bet that it was a mixture of both. When we both calmed down,

he sat back against the bathroom wall with me still on his lap, clinging to him like a drowning man to a straw. In appropriate comparison, I know. He then proceeded to tell me everything, everything about this curse, about his family, about what this entire wretched ordeal was about. I listened and I understood everything right away. Having abandoned my innocence minutes ago, it was easy for me to grasp the severity of the situation. I don't know how, but I got it. In my father's family, we couldn't die.

We simply couldn't. Neither nature nor mankind would grant us the privilege. Only age seemed to do the trick, when the body naturally started to decay, and all that would be left was an empty husk. As such, we would be forced to endure the cruelties of the world until our final breath, never knowing the sweet release of death

until he came knocking on the door himself. There weren't a lot of people left on my father's side of the family, and the few that remained did what they could to handle the situation on their own premises. Most of them already had their foot in the graves by the time I first came to see them, but they hardly resembled humans anymore. Some dealt with drugs or used their immortality to commit heinous deeds for a living. They were already living a hell,

so they didn't fear returning to one once their lives had expired. I would come to meet some of them later in life, either through coincidences or by choice, but it resulted in absolutely nothing. I thought at some point that meeting others like me would help ease my pain but all we could do was offer our condolences and go on with our misery. I'm not going to go into too much detail about that because it's not that relevant.

My dad then let out a deep sigh and slammed the back of his head against the wall and I didn't doubt that it was a deliberate movement. He was far from dumb with punishing himself as I would come to learn years later. Then he said something that didn't make sense to me at the time. I won't let her take you, he whispered. I won't. Looking back on it, I've come to realize that he was already dead.

The worst part was just that his body wouldn't let him go. After that night, I fell into a deep depression. While I never entered quite the same darkness as my dad, I entered darkness nonetheless. Depression weighed down to me during my teenage years, and I tried. on various occasions to end myself, though it was more of a dabble than anything else.

Sometimes it would be by ingesting different substances that I managed to get from different sources, varying from everything between bleach and simple sleeping pills. However, all there ever was in terms of death was momentary darkness, followed by ruined clothes and a new sense of apathy. But whenever I was in that brief darkness, I thought I saw someone standing there,

mockingly smiling at me. I never got to see them for long. before I resurfaced into the world of the living. And so, I never gave it much thought, though I should have. Eventually, I lost count of how many bones, organs, and senses of self-respect I lost over the years. Damn, I even lost the concept of pain at some point during my adolescence.

And so, I didn't fear it anymore. It was still there, but nuns from years of experience. At one point, I tried to pull the 13 reasons why method, but it was messy, so I wouldn't recommend it. The only thing I gained out of that endeavour was a ruined shirt and a new appreciation for bleach. I tried to find some sense of purpose in this never-ending life of mine, some kind of belonging,

but there was none to be found in my circumstances. My dad continued to wither away, and my mom couldn't handle it anymore and left. I was 17 when she up and went, but before she did, she left me a letter at Bible length apologising to both me and my dad. She loved us, but she couldn't handle the death we reeked of.

She had a life to live, and she intended to do just that. I don't blame her in the slightest. It was a miracle that I managed to make it past high school, but I didn't bother applying for college. My grades weren't bad, but not college material, so I settled for a simple job instead to carry me into my early adult years.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to support me and my dad and keep a roof over our heads so it was adequate enough. As for my job, I worked several of them though my most prominent one is as a server at this fancy restaurant called the Red Cardoneer. It's one of those places

where only the richest buggers go to entertain themselves and I'm surprised I even got the job at all. The pay is good enough, but sometimes dealing with the snobbery that occupy this space isn't worth it. I can't tell you how many times I've come close to ending myself while taking someone's orders, not that it would do me much in the long run.

However, it's noteworthy to mention that it was here I met one of my more interesting customers. A woman, young and extremely attractive, wearing a red dress that matched the interior within that god-forsaken building. Her hair was in a deep crimson that hardly looked natural, but still, it seemed that way. She was a regular at the restaurant, and I was the one who more than often took her orders. The thing that surprised me was that despite how she blended into the restaurant, something stuck out about her like a sore thumb, though I couldn't put my finger on it. For some reason, she seemed familiar.

At first, I linked her. Interesting presents with her appetite. While she was thin and covecious in all the ways that any man would find desirable, she had a seemingly insatiable hunger. She often ordered large plates of meals at a time, but none of them were for any companions. She always sat there by a lonesome, like a lady who had been stood up by a companion,

though it was clear that there was no companion in the picture at all. She ate everything on her own and finished off all of meals at record speed. I often wondered if she simply sucked them into a mouth like a vacuum cleaner. After watching her on occasions, however, I came to the startling discovery that she ate just like any other person, albeit at a considerable pace.

One day, while working my shift, I saw her again. There she sat in the corner booth she always occupied, in the same red dress as before, in a sultry smile that she only aimed towards me. I had seen other servers take her orders, but there would always be this strained look on a face of disappointment. Anyway, I walked over to her note in hand and prepared to take a request as be usual.

Before I could come up with her, Good day, what will you be having today? She rested a cheek in her hand and said, You're Thomas's kid, right? I blinked. Um, excuse me. You're Thomas's kid, she repeated casually. Thomas Evry?

Yes, I offered, uncertainly. I'm sorry, but do I know you? She shrugged. Somewhat, though we've never met before outside of this disgusting establishment. Disgusting. If she found it disgusting, then why bother to come here at all? If there's been an issue with the food, then I can give you a review to the ship. But she raised her hand and stopped me mid-sentence, evidently disinterested in whatever terrible excuse I can come up with for the food. I'm not here for the food, not this facade at least, she said.

I'm here for you, Nathan. Unable to contain my composure any further, I narrowed my eyes. Who are you? How do you know my name? She released a laugh that reminded me of someone who's been waiting for ages to tell a bad joke. I know you, or your family at least, she explained and played with the rim of a wine glass. We were associates once, though it's long now and I'm willing to call dust my friends. You just said we've never met outside this restaurant, I pointed out, careful as to keep my tone down.

That's true. I've never known you, but your ancestors were a funny lot, making promises only to go against them once they found ideal unappealing. She suddenly grasped the glass around the edges so much so that it looked like she was about to break it. I gave them the power of gods in exchange for their services, and they repaid me by scattering into the wind and leaving me in the dust to starve. The elegant way she carried herself couldn't conceal the sheer anger that radiated from her words, but it did little to make me understand. understand the situation. What the hell are you talking about? I asked, not caring about how unsavory my words were.

This woman was crazy. She eyed me with mild exasperation, as if she was talking to a child whose only response to her answers were, why is that? I told your spineless ancestors that I would grant them immortality for as long as they lived if they fed and sustained me. And they did for a while. But then the idea to run off and exploit the gift I gave them came to this small. small, underdeveloped heads, and they left me to rot.

The glass broke in her hands, and I flinched. I bestow them the gift of lasting life, void of pain and sickness, and they repaid me by leaving me behind a starve. I wanted to believe that this woman was messed in the head and needed a desperate psych evaluation, but something in my head seemed to come together at a word, and rather than confusion, I felt nothing but raged towards her instead. Gift, I spat, clenched.

the notepad in my hand to the point where I threatened to tear it to pieces. What gift? My family suffered because of this curse. My dad dies a little each day, and you call it a gift? I didn't know what she was, or what she wanted. But yet, something about me already

knew her, like a long lost acquaintance. She seemed unimpressed with my anger. If anything, she found it amusing. Whatever mess you've made of my gift, you've done yourself. Don't blame me for your petty grievances. I wanted to shout at her, screamed like I did, as my father did, and like my mother did.

Instead, all that came out of my throat was a question that was hardly audible. What the hell are you? She smiled. I guess you could call me an old god of sorts, she explained. Though I've never much cared for your human labels. Call me whatever you wish. Asol immediately came to my head, but I refrain from saying it. A god, I almost scoffed.

You're God? Don't be foolish, she sounded, almost offended. I'm not that God like you're familiar with. Contrary to what you might think, he's not the only one, and he's far from the kindest. He's got his own mess to deal with, and I don't have time to meddling his affairs. Wait, God is real?

She shrugged again, indifferent to the name. In a way, though he's grown bored with humanity as a whole. I, on the other hand, am codependent. on your lot, unfortunately. Why? Your flesh is, like it or not, of vital importance to me. I cannot live without it.

She dusted the broken shards to the floor, not caring about the fact that I was the one who had to clean it up after her. However, I'm not a savage. One of the deals I made with your ancestors was so that I wouldn't have to hunt like an animal to sustain myself. You were supposed to be my providers.

I gave pieces of my flesh to them, and in turn they would feed me me. That's why you cannot die, because a tiny, miniscule piece of me is inside you. She placed the finger on my chest, ignoring all sense of personal space. Let me get this straight, I said, eyes wide as I stuttered her finger. You're an old god who cannot live on anything else but human flesh to survive, and my ancestors made some kind of screwed up deal with you to make them live to their fullest capabilities until they die.

Yes, she said. Why not eat someone else? then. Her eyes narrowed. I'm not some savage animal. I prefer to keep things decent when I can afford it, though your lot have made it difficult for some time now. I paused, thinking carefully about my next question. And why is it just the men who get this gift? Again, she shrugged. I gave my gift to men, and so it was passed through them to their sons, though in hindsight, maybe I should have given it to that women instead, you obviously don't have the required brain capacity to think things through. She leaned back again and sighed.

I'll cut to the chase, Nathan. I'm starving. It's been ages since I last had a proper meal, and this cheap flesh you're serving tastes like crap. I cannot live by it, so I'm willing to propose an offer to you. I quirked an eyebrow at her, not necessarily liking where this was going. What kind of offer? She pointed at me again. You.

Me? Yes, you, she said. You can become my provider. She spread her arms open with a six-mile in her face. Feed me, Nathan. Give me your flesh, your organs, your skin. Give me your life for as long as you live. And when the time comes, you will let your offspring continue the tradition and the offspring in return.

Keep the promise your ancestors failed to deliver, and I will repay you accordingly. No more pain, no more misery. Your family can die when you please, as long as you keep your promise to me. Why me? I asked, bewildered, I anger, like some kind of freak show attraction. Why not other members of my family?

The ones who are left. Why not you? She smirked and leaned her cheek back down again on her hand. The rest of your family is too widespread for me to bother searching for them. Too old. You're the youngest one there is. The one with the most potential. The rest have polluted themselves with far too much to be considered.

desirable. I only found you by chance. The story of how a young boy managed to survive a fatal car crash was quite exhilarating to read about in the newspapers. That's how you found me? She nodded. I pondered at a request of far too long.

The deal sounded shady as hell, but the notion of being freed from a misery somehow made me tempted to accept. The only thing I didn't trust was a conditions and a put load of other things, but I wasn't in a place or shaped keep awaiting.

What will you give me in return? I asked cautiously. To this inquiry, she stood up and walked over to me, leaned her head into my ear, and whispered her compensation. I'll let your father go. I stepped back from her,

face pale as I processed the words. What? I'll let your father go, she repeated. Accept my proposal and I'll let Thomas Avery die. You can do that, I asked, not believing her at first. You can kill him. I can. You can kill any of us? Again, she affirmed my question with a simple nod. Yes. Then, why did you let us live? I was on the verge of shouting at her. Memories of the pain my family enjoyed at her hands flooding

back into my brain. Years of torture, suffering, misery. all because of her. Why? Her lips turned into a firm scowl, and I'm ashamed to admit that I felt threatened by it. What did you think your punishment was for denying me? What was mine? She asked, voiced dangerously low and sounding inhuman at some point.

Her attractive, beautiful appearance seemed to change ever so slightly into something monstrous, though it only lasted for a moment or so before she contorted back into her normal self. Did you think I was going to let you reap all of the benefits of your theft. I wasn't viewed as your saviour. Your lot viewed me as a monster. And so, that's what I became. I let you live, but I let you die as well because of it. That's what you deserve. The knowledge that she was the direct source of my family, my father's

pain, made it tempting to retrieve one of the broken shards of glass that had descended to the floor and strike her with it. But as I watched her, standing there, waiting for my answer, I came to the realization that she had the power I craved Death I thought through it another moment Then thought about my father And finally turned back to her

How do I know you'll keep your word She took another step towards me And gestured to my hand Give me your palm And I did I stretched my hand to her And she took it in hers And lifted it to her face

At first I thought she was about to kiss it But to my shock and horror, I watched as she parted her lips, teeth coming into full view and bit down at my wrist. The sound of skin breaking and bone snapping echoed through my ear canals. But instead of screaming like I wanted to, I could only watch as she dug into my flesh like an animal starved as sustenance. Finally, she drew a mouth away from my hand, along with a generous chunk of my flesh,

and swallowed the piecehole, licking her blood-stained lips like a childwood with ice cream. Meanwhile, blood continues to gush out of my open wound, and I quickly snap my hand out of a grip and caressed it, try my best to prevent it from bleeding out. I eventually managed to get the words out. What the hell? It'll heal, she waved her hand dismissively at the sight of my pain.

Now our deal is complete. I'll see you soon, Nathan Avery. With that, she turned and started to walk towards the doors. Before she could leave, I shouted after her. wait what about your part of the deal she stopped walking and turned to look over her shoulder and i'll never forget that devious smile it was the same smile that i used to see when i died and came to the darkness i've already done my part then she left and i was left with a blood-cushing wound and an immeasurable amount of shock i don't remember how long i stood there but the sound of one of my co-workers shouting at me snapped me out of my paralysed staphed me out of my paralysed Avery, what the hell happened, men? I snapped around to see Jonathan, one of the more decent servers in the restaurant, looking at me with evident concern in his eyes.

As I was about to concoct an excuse, his eyes trouted the broken shards on the floor next to me. How the hell did he manage to break one of the glasses? I... what? I looked at him, confused. I didn't break it. The woman did. What woman? What do you mean what woman?

She just left? Didn't you see her? Dude, there was no one there. You sure you're fine? Looks like you cut yourself real bad. I didn't know what to make of the situation anymore. For the rest of my shift, I wanted to convince myself

that what I had seen wasn't real, but the bandage spot of my arms served as a constant reminder of what had happened. I knew it would heal in less than a day, but for now, it was a sign of the hellish exchange I just made. As soon as my shift was over, I hurriedly made my way home and called out for my dad already before I entered through the door. The house was dark, as per usual, due to some unpaid bills,

and I had to never get my way through the darkness with a flashlight I kept in the drawer. I kept calling him over and over again, but he never answered once. I searched every room in the house without finding him, but when I opened the door to his bedroom, I found him. Dead. He was lying on his back on top of his. bed, and although I initially expected him to simply be in a state of drunken stupor as usual, when I checked him, he was cold to the touch.

I shook him several times and searched for a pulse, but there was none to be found. He truly was dead, and a sense of both sadness and relief surged through me. The man who had raised me, who had been in such agony for all his life, was dead. I tug him into my arms and looked down. at his face. His eyes were closed as if he was sleeping, but his mouth was spread into a content smile that resembled that of a child who had just been awoken from a nightmare. He was finally at peace. In death, he truly looked alive. The woman, or whatever she was, she had kept her end of the bargain. Now I have to keep mine. I write this as a letter of confession.

That night I learned the true purpose of my existence And the cause of my hereditary misery That had plagued my family for generations The responsibility has fallen on my hands to see it through And I have to ensure that it continues If there's ever going to be hope for my descendants For my future children and grandchildren I'm sorry for what I've done

But It had to be done I hope you'll understand and maybe forgive me But I won't fault you if you don't