CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I'm a small town cop, but I've got a big problem" Creepypasta

Episode Date: April 21, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by zachariusfrost: 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►PhelanDavion: https://www.deviantart.com/phelandavi...​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/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-

I always had dreams of being a big city cop. Growing up and watching shows like Forensic Files and NYPD Blue inspired me. I dreamed of becoming a hero who fought crime to protect people. But I guess fate had other ideas. Rather than patrolling the streets of Brooklyn or Chicago, as a man wound up in a small town in the rural Midwest, nothing but dirt, tumbleweeds and flatland as far as the eye can see. Some comedian once made a joke about his time living out here.

saying he could sit on his porch and watch his dog run around for three whole days. His name escapes me now, but that joke is surprisingly accurate. Because of everything that has happened recently, I won't be given the name of this town. There's a lot I still don't understand about what happened, but I know my superiors would not be happy if I went blabbing around and spreading rumors. Posting this at all is probably a bad idea, but at this point, I don't know what else to do.

After landing the job out here, it quickly became apparent that there wasn't much action, and that was the norm. But that all changed about a week ago. A fellow officer, I'll call Doug and I, were on our usual patrol route. This normally consisted of us cruising around town and the rural surrounding roads and occasionally breaking up a high school party. Not exactly the hotbed of criminal activity I had sort of hoped for. Doug is a senior officer. been working for the same precinct out here for nearly 30 years. He's a laid-back type, cordial, and doesn't seem in much of a hurry to do anything,

except on the rare occasion of something happening. The sun was beginning to set in the distance, and Doug was retelling the incident of him facing off with a hungry cougar while trying to help an injured camper. That was a normal evening for us, and I very much enjoyed listening to him recount tales of his pantheon of stories. Doug pulled the cruiser around a bend and what is essentially the most remote patch of our jurisdiction.

It's a small valley with multiple foothills, but no one ever really goes out there. As soon as we ran in the corner though, we saw something we didn't expect. There was a Jeep parked on the shoulder right in front of the hill with a driver's side door propped open. Our headlights beamed over the vehicle,

but I saw nobody inside. What the hell is there? Doug asked, pulling our car over on the adjacent shoulder. The two of us stepped out and approached the desolate vehicle. The lights were off, but it appeared it had only been there a short time. It was weird that whoever drove it there hadn't even bothered to shut the door though. Doug and I approached, with him taking the lead and approaching the derelict vehicle. He called out to the missing driver, but got no response.

He kept his hand on his holster and quickly. He crept closer as I watched his back. There was no indication anyone was out there aside from the Jeep, but I felt the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. Something wasn't right. I truly hoped we weren't about to stumble upon someone's suicide, but that was the vibe I initially got. Doug reached the side of the Jeep and briefly peered inside. As soon as he saw what was in there, he recoiled back, drawing his revolver and motioning for me to move away. He ordered me to call him back up, looking more frantic than I'd ever seen him.

Tell him to send everything, Doug ordered, his gaze glancing around the vicinity with a sudden frenzy. I did as he requested and radio dispatch, still not understanding what exactly it was that he saw. The dispatch operator confirmed the request, telling me that two other units and an ambulance were on the way. Freeze, Doug suddenly shouted. I looked up to seem shining his flashlight. out in front of the jeep. There was a man there, dressed in a dark hoodie in jeans. He was holding something in his hand, but from my vantage point, I couldn't tell what it was.

Johnny, Johnny, is that you? Doug asked, seeming to recognize him. The man then lifted his head, and I recognized him. A local teenager, a native guy with a bit of a chequered history. We've caught him for Andrade's drinking and smoking pot on a few occasions. but never anything severe. Johnny's eyes were vacant, almost sorrowful. He stared back at Doug and swallowed hard.

I have to do it, Johnny replied. Doug shook his head, almost silently begging him not to try anything radical. Johnny, just put it down. We can talk, figure this out. Johnny paused the moment,

then shook his head. He inspected the item in his hand. and I realized it was a walkie-talkie. I didn't understand what was happening, but I kept my pistol locked on him. There's no time. I'm sorry.

Johnny lifted his arm. Bang! The ambulance arrived unseen a few minutes later, picking up Johnny and rushing him to the town's only hospital. Doug had shot him in the left shoulder, causing him to drop his item. He was thankfully alive and stable,

but unfortunately Doug doesn't carry the standard 9mm instead patrolling around with his 44 magnum that one bullet did some rather severe damage and I still didn't understand why any of it was necessary Doug ordered all of us away from the scene refusing to allow anyone near the Jeep or even telling us what he found inside several hours later a special unit from a larger neighbouring precinct arrived things finally started coming together after that

Johnny's Jeep was loaded with nearly 30 pounds of pyrotechnic flash powder the stuff used in fireworks He crammed it into nearly two dozen small cylinders And wrapped them tightly with two propane tanks and a walkie-talkie It was a bomb A rather large one which he had rigged to the other walkie-talkie to allow for remote detonation Johnny's father owned a fireworks chain And after scaring his warehouse

We found that's where Johnny had acquired his supplies Johnny was a rebellious teenager, but I never would have thought him a terrorist. The bomb squad managed to successfully dismantle his device without incident, but the whole scenario didn't make much sense. Johnny was unconscious for days afterwards, and the 44 round that it hit him turned out to have caused more damage than initially thought. Doctor said he would survive, but would face extensive recovery. Doug took the incident harder than any of us,

but since our suspect was unconscious, the only thing we could do to learn more was return to the scene of the crime. The Jeep had been removed by then, so myself, Doug, and two other officers traced his route on foot. There was a small valley which led to a few rocky foothills, but no indication of a possible target.

No one lives in that area, nor anywhere close really. That was partially relieving, as we were afraid Johnny was intending to hurt a lot of people. But that didn't seem to be the case. After only a few minutes of following the small ravine, we found something. An hour opening was carved into the side of one of the hills, looking as though it was an old mining tunnel entrance.

Upon closer inspection, I realised it wasn't just a cave-in. It actually appeared as though a large stone slab sealed the entrance. It was one solid piece and not just rubble. I found that quite curious. but didn't exactly know what to make of it. The town has dozens of old mines from the early gold rush days, but they've all been shut down for decades now. Furthermore, we haven't been able to find any evidence of a mine

ever existing in that particular spot. I got this odd feeling as we approached it like a heavy static electricity in the air. The hairs on my arms and head seem to stand, and I noticed it on the others as well. Normally, this can be a very worrying sign and can sometimes indicate that lightning is about to strike. The sky was clear, though, and that didn't seem likely.

Something about it was oddly unnerving in a way. I don't know how to fully articulate. We lingered there for a few minutes, but didn't find much of interest there or anywhere else. We left shortly after and took the short trail back to our vehicles. I don't know whether it was just my nerves mounting, but I felt incredibly nervous on my way back. It felt like we were being watched.

Johnny thankfully woke up two days later, and Doug and I returned to the hospital to question him. He was still quite out of it, likely a reaction to his medication and condition. His father was there, and at first he denied us permission to interview his son until Johnny himself insisted upon speaking to us. Both his father and us were quite taken aback by that request,

but we're all too happy to oblige. "'Where's my Jeep?' Johnny asked as Doug and I entered the room. "'Inbound, bomb squad dismantled it.' Doug replied, matter-of-factly. He sat in a chair opposing Johnny, who appeared quite distressed by the admission. "'We have to go back out there. There's not much time.' Johnny then tried moving upward, but cringed as pain shot through his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and reluctantly sat back down, breaths falling frantic from his lips.

You're not going anywhere, Johnny. Not until you tell us what you were doing. You could be in a lot of trouble here. What were you doing with all those explosives? The tunnel, he replied with that moment's hesitation, making no effort to downplay his intent. We have to destroy it. Doug shot me a confused glance, and I posed a question. That mine shaft, is that what you mean?

Johnny shook his head. It's not a mind shaft. Johnny's eyes were almost frantic then and his breathing almost turned into hyperventilations You've been out there, right? You saw it? He asked We found it Johnny. It's already sealed. Johnny then vehemently shook his head.

It won't stay that way. It opens every couple of days. Doug and I exchanged another perturbed glance. I'm sure he wanted to write off Johnny as some sort of eccentric but there was an obvious, desperate pleading in his voice that made me take pause. Please, Johnny begged, eyes starting to water. Why, Johnny? I asked, leaning in. What's in there?

Doug seemed annoyed. I was even engaging his delusion. But Johnny was clearly petrified by something, and I wanted to know what it was. I... I don't know. Something horrible. I've seen people post about them online. we have to destroy it. We didn't get much more out of him than that. He just kept begging us to finish what he wasn't able to do. He also said something about how things will come out,

which made my skin crawl. I didn't understand how a normal kid like Johnny had suddenly turned so obsessed with detonating an old tunnel, but I couldn't deny the odd feeling it gave me and the pleading desperation in his voice. Doug and I left, realizing he wasn't going to tell us much more than that. After a bit of math, I realized that if what Johnny said was true,

then the mind shaft was set to open the following morning around 3am. Doug believed it was a load of hogwash, but I felt the least I could do was investigate Johnny's claims. It didn't seem possible, I know, and Doug told me I was being thrown for a loop, but I felt like there was something more to it. Johnny was a troubled kid, as I mentioned, but he didn't seem like a liar. So myself and two other officers, Hastings and Gunnison, returned to the scene of the incident.

Doug elected to stay behind, convinced there was nothing of interest out there. It probably had something to do with the fact that we had to be out there by 3 a.m. as well, and Doug was not in any way a morning person. According to Johnny, 3 a.m. the following day was when the time, tunnel was set to open once again, whatever that meant. I thought that whatever this was, there would be a logical explanation to it. I met Hastings and Gunnersen out there, just before 3 a.m. the following morning. Both of them only seemed slightly awake, and also slightly remorseful over their decision to meet me. A thick fog lingered over the foothills, sprinkling a chilly dew

over the environment. I tucked my coat up around my neck, trying to ignore the chills rolling down my spine. The three of us sat around sipping coffee for about half an hour until 3 a.m. rolled around. Suddenly, an odd, abrasive noise permeated the dark atmosphere. It sounded like heavy rock scraping against rock, a loud, oppressive grinding that made me clenched my teeth. It sounded like it was coming from the ravine up ahead, and it made the cold air dip a few more degrees. Hastings and Gunnison clearly seemed unnerved by it as well. Gunnison wondered out loud if it was a rock slide, but I wasn't so sure the explanation was that simple.

The three of us crept our way around the gully. It seemed like the fog was getting thicker the further we went. It got so bad that visibility was soon limited to maybe 20 yards. Something's not right. Hastings spoke what I was also feeling. There was an odd quality to the fog, like some ill-defined heaviness that lingered within it. It didn't feel natural.

Despite the red flags, I foolishly insisted we continue onward. We were only about 50 yards from the tunnel entrance, and I needed to see it again. Something incredibly strange to happen then, what I can only describe as a sudden head rush then struck me, like my brain had been jumpstarted into overdrive. My vision began to alter. In a way, I don't even fully know how to explain. It was like my perception just suddenly shifted. Little Trace has changed.

trailed off the rocks around me, and the ground appeared like it was breathing in and out. I'm pretty vanilla when it comes to drug usage, and although I've never taken them personally, it almost felt like what I was experiencing was similar to accounts of psilocybin mushroom and LSD trips of red online. Out of nowhere, Hastings suddenly began to giggle. Both Gunnison and I looked back to him in confusion. His eyes were darting around like flies, and he had this almost manic smile on his face. "'The hell is so funny.' "'Gunison's eyes were wider sources when he asked it,

"'and I could tell he was feeling it too. "'I feel weird. "'What did you put in that coffee?' Hastings asked. "'Neal as to say, "'I hadn't put anything in the coffee, "'especially not hallucinogenic drugs. "'There was something in the air itself "'that was messing with our minds.

"'I then just decided to go all out "'and make a mad dash towards the tunnel. "'The feeling got warm, worse the closer I got. The world degraded to a foreign slurry in my eyes, and the rocky ground became as turbulent as an unruly sea. I could barely keep myself upright, and barely even decipher what was around me. Then, by some miracle, I saw it. The tunnel emerged from the dense fog, but this time the entrance was open. From behind me, I heard Hastings giggle erupt into a bellow of laughter, like a mad scientist bringing Frankenstein back to life.

Goneson then screamed, and I just booked it. I took one last glance of the tunnel as I fled, and I swear there was something in there looking back at me, something I don't even know how to begin describing, something that just shouldn't exist. I ran like never before my life, suddenly consumed by the fear I felt. Both Goneson and Hastings were no longer where I'd last seen them. From further, within the canopy of fog, I heard Hayeson. Hastings continued to cackle like a madman, but I never caught sight of him. The crippling mental haste seemed to alleviate the further I got from the tunnel, and by the time I reached the vehicles, I felt completely coherent once more.

Gunnison was standing there, panting with quivering hands. Where's Hasting? I asked as I joined him. Gunnison looked back to me in terror. He followed after you? From behind us, I saw the fog slowly drifting outwards. as if it was some singular entity drifting in the wind. I no longer heard Hastings laughter, and I knew if we didn't leave then, then we wouldn't at all.

Gunnison and I fled, leaving Hastings behind. I called Doug on the way home, trying to convey everything that had just happened. I don't know how much he understood from my frantic rant mixed with his sudden awakening, but he seemed to understand that Hastings was in trouble. He and I rendezvoused at the station about 20 minutes later and I reiterated what had happened. Doug didn't seem to know what to make of my story, but he did understand that Hastings was missing.

He rallied everyone in the police force to go back and search, albeit Gunnison who vehemently refused to go back. He and Doug got into a heated argument about it and Gunnison tossed his badge into the dirt, claiming no job was worth going back there before storming off. I'll admit, I was absolutely terrified of going back, but I knew we had to help Hastings. It was my fault he was out there to begin with, and I had to do my part. It turns out it may have been too late, as by the time Doug and I returned with reinforcements, we found no trace of him.

The fog was gone by that point too, and the tunnel sealed back up just as it was the first time we'd found it. Doug began to amass a search team and ordered me to go home, get some rest and decompressed from the situation. My girlfriend Samantha could see that something had happened, but I didn't tell her about it. I think the adrenaline had finally worn off and I felt a severe drowsiness setting in. Last thing I remember was slumping on the couch of our apartment, only to be awakened several hours later by Samantha shaking me vigorously. Mark, something's happening. Wake up. I feel really weird. As my eyes sprung open, I saw the room distort around me, similar to how it had previously.

That unnerving mental haze was back, and I could only mean one thing. She and I got a dog, Max, as our perceptions continued to disintegrate and fled. Max was going ballistic all the way out to the car, switching from snarling like he'd gone rabid to whining pit of ferv. It was dark again, and from all around us, I heard laughter and cries from the other residents in our complex. I wanted to help them, but in the moment, I only cared about getting Samantha and Max to safety. By the time we reached Samantha's car, there were screams echoing out from within the complex. Other residents were fleeing as well, but many were still inside.

By the time we hit the main street, the town's tornado siren had become blaring in the distance. Samantha asked me what the hell was going on, but I didn't even know how to respond. I dialed Doug and he instructed me to meet him at the station with a trembling urgency in his voice. We got there only a few minutes later and I taught Samantha to take the car and Max and get to safety. She had tears in her eyes and asked me what was going on, but I didn't have time to tell her then. I just told her I loved her and I'd call her as soon as I could. She agreed, and I watched the drive off as I returned to the moment at hand. Doug rallied every officer at our precinct, which was only nine of us because the town is so small, and send them back to the apartments.

Only Hastings was missing, but the rest arrived shortly after we did. Doug had said that dispatch had been flooded with 911 calls from multiple residents of the complex. I felt the horrific guilt of the situation sinked deep into my skull, causing my mind to throb. Everything in my mind and gut was screaming for me to get as far away from the place as possible. But I couldn't. I couldn't just abandon everyone who lived there.

After all, whatever was happening there who was happening because of me. That thing had come back for me. Several people were in the parking lot as we arrived. They appeared delirious and confused, with most of them in the pajamas, as if they'd had to leave very cold, quickly. Doug ordered all of them away from the building as we began to conduct interviews

and ask if anyone was injured. I spoke with an elderly lady, Martha, who had lived in the unit below Samantha and mine ever since we've moved in. She was all but petrified and clutched the palmerian tightly in her hands. Her nose was bleeding, but thankfully she didn't appear too badly injured. I spoke with her as she held a rag to her nose, tears falling faster from her eyes with every word. She told me she had suddenly been awakened by a strange feeling. She felt woozy, and, since she's diabetic, she thought perhaps her insulin levels were low. She then saw her husband, sitting in the bedroom closet and giggling.

She stumbled towards him, calling out and expressing her fears that she may be having a medical emergency. Without warning, she said that her husband, Frank, suddenly lashed out and slapped her across the face. He then returned to the closet, holding his knees and giggling. Martha fled after that, and that decision probably saved the life. She began sobbing, saying that Frank had never done anything like that, and she was worried he might be sick. I conversed with Frank myself dozens of times, and he never would have struck me as the type to abuse his wife.

She told me he was still inside and begged me to go check on him. Doug got on his speaker and instructed everyone to leave the complex immediately. We were worried that the building may have sprung a gas leak, which could have possibly explained Martha and the other residents' symptoms, but it was clearly far beyond that. Not a single person came outside. There's only maybe 50 residents in our entire complex, and most of them were already outside,

although we estimated that at least a dozen were still within. Two of our officers approached one of the entrances as the remainder of us covered them. I watched their steps grow more hobbled and awkward the closer they got until one of them actually fell over entirely, propping himself up with his arm. He then heaved and vomited on the concrete and turned back as the other tried to pull him back to his feet. The two of them managed to get back to the rest of us, brandishing looks of terror reminiscent to the other residents. No one went near the building after that. And no one else came out.

It was just a stalemate that went on long into the night. Doug kept on the intercom, periodically instructing people to evacuate. But no one ever did. The other residents were ferried away from the scene, and many of them being forced to abandon loved ones still inside. Every now and then, we'd hear laughter, screaming, or other less definable sounds reverberate from inside the building. We got glimpses of silhouettes within,

but never anything entirely clear. No one really understood what was going on, but after the first officer's experiences and the other residences' testimonies, no one wanted to risk going in there. The sun finally rose the following day, and the real bizarre situation took on an entirely new perspective. It had been hours since anything was heard from within the building,

but something became clear as the smouldering sun beamed down upon it. The building itself was different. Some spots looked almost melted, while others seemed to have elongated and grown taller or wider. It's like the building itself was suffering from the odd haze that it afflicted myself and the other residents. Not long, after the sun had risen, an entourage of black suburban suddenly rolled up to the scene, followed soon after by a swat truck. Like some cliche entourage, a group of men in black suits exited the truck, and approached Doug. They spent a minute or two conversing

before Doug looked back at the rest of us. Much to my surprise and relief, we were then told we could leave and the men in black would handle the situation. By that point, I'd been up for nearly 24 hours and wanted nothing more than to just sleep. I probably should have asked a few more questions before leaving, but I was barely awake enough to even remain standing by that point.

I assumed this guys were CIA or from some other secret. government agency. That was about a week ago now. That's about where we stand. I haven't been able to return back to my apartment since, and have since been told by Doug that I likely never will. They're considering that entire property and the 11 individuals still inside to be already lost. Doug hasn't told me much more than that, and I don't even know if they've told him the full extent of what's happening. Clearly, whatever is in that building is significantly above our jurisdiction. The ravine with the tunnel is now under the supervision of the unnamed government agents.

I never would have imagined myself at the epicenter of something like this. I guess in some cruel twist of irony, I finally got the large-scale case I always wanted, but I never could have envisioned it being like this. Whatever it was, there was in that tunnel, and is now in that building. It's way beyond us. I want to think there's some logical explanation to this. this, like some gas leak in the mine caused me to hallucinate and then somehow

spread to our apartment complex. I'd be a fool to believe that, after everything that's happened, though. Whatever happened to me and the others, it wasn't in any way natural. It was like that thing invaded my mind and proximity to it, strengthen

the strange psychic aura it possesses. Whatever power it has even seemed to distort the building itself. I never got a good look at it. But what kind of thing would warp your mind simply by being near it? Just as Johnny had said, I've managed to find a few stories online of people finding these tunnels.

I don't know how much I read was fiction, but no one seems to have an explanation for them. People just apparently seem to stumble across them one day, oftentimes in places they'd never been before. If anyone listening has a possible explanation for all of this, then please feel free to comment. I'm at a loss to explain this, and I'll admit I've never been much of a believer in the whole supernatural stuff. Nothing I found online seems to explain what this thing is, natural or otherwise.

Hastings is still missing, and last I heard, those people are still locked inside that building. Whatever the truth is, I just hope that no more of those tunnels are out there. God knows what kind of things may come out of them.