CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I'm a Teacher and My Favorite Student's Guardian is Different" Creepypasta

Episode Date: October 15, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by 02321: 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►Julia Grzona: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Ya...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-

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combe. in an exceptionally average public school, one that suffers from the same issues most districts do. Some families have difficulties paying for lunches, and most teachers are forced to buy the majority of our own supplies, both for the classroom itself and for the less fortunate students.

I do my best to provide whatever materials I can to ensure each student has an equal shot at an education regardless of their income status. Like most teachers, even the more overworked and slightly jaded ones, I love all my students, I want the very best for them. As I stayed late after class one day, grading papers and planning for the next day's class, my mind slowly began to wander.

Eventually, my train of thought arrived at the topic of parents. As much as I love my students, their parents were a different story. I started to think back a few years prior, when I encountered the downright strangest parent I have ever met, one I hoped to never meet again. I have dealt with more than my fair share of Karen mothers, as well as overbearing fathers trying to push their sons into sports. Regardless of what their child might want,

parents tend to think they know best. After a while, all these encounters began to blend together. You don't really remember specific parents, unless they're really strange, or have exhibited some sort of harmful behaviour towards their children. A few years ago, I was filling in teaching kids around the 8 to 10 year old range. I not only taught high school, but found I fell into the position pretty easily. I tried my best to give her for cool and almost aloof demeanour,

but sometimes my resolve broke because my students were just too darn cute. Christmas break was coming up soon, and I caught a few sneaky glances of them all working away, making me a giant card, big enough for them to sign in their adorable, childish scroll. As kids, often not aware of how horrible they are at keeping secrets or being stealthy, they thought they were doing an amazing job hiding the card as a surprise for me. I couldn't help but find myself appreciating how lucky I was to get such a thoughtful and charming bunch.

One child stood out among the rest, though. Little Milo Wash. At the start of the year, he'd been very withdrawn. I suspected abuse in his past. As a teacher, you become very very, very much. As a teacher, you become very attuned to possible signs of abuse or mistreatment. I asked around about him, trying to see if there was any way I could make his school life a little better in an attempt to balance out a potentially less than ideal home life. He had been pulled out of school when he was seven after his father passed away. Recently, his mother had also passed away from unspecific causes. I wasn't sure if another family member took him in or if he was in a foster system.

His guardian had a different last name. perhaps an uncle had adopted him. I worried about the poor thing coming back to school so soon after losing both parents. That would be a crushing blow for most adults, let alone an eight-year-old child. I kept an eye on him, and to my great relief, he started to open up. I watched for the sense of deep satisfaction as over the course of a few months, this sullen, anxious child slightly became surrounded by classmates and friends. He was still a bit on the quiet side.

But he was always on good terms with his classmates. He was a thoughtful and kind boy in a way that wasn't seeking approval. He discovered a girl in his class that never seemed to bring a decent lunch. She had a sad excuse for a sandwich some days, a piece of round mystery meat between two slices of white bread, only an apple, often bruised and looking rather unappetising. He noticed and discreetly started to share part of his lunch with her. After a while, he was bringing an entire set.

The school had a parent-teacher meeting once a month. Parents could come in and ask about grades, any upcoming events or things of that nature. It was done in a group setting, but I was fine meeting them one-on-one after if they had pressing questions. I had never met Milo's guardian, only spoke to him on the phone. That wasn't a cause for concern, as I had met a lot of the parents. The meetings were optional, and he was quite common for both parents to work to support their family, if, that is, the family had both parents. Others just did not deign to attend something of this sort, that level of involvement in the child's life quite low on their list of priorities. It's with that information in mind that when Milo's guardian called, trying to

set him a meeting, I was caught a little off guard. He had mentioned he'd wanted to attend the meetings, but his demanding work kept him from doing so. He wanted to go over any days I had available to discuss Milo's progress in depth, but our schedules just never seem to line up. We finally decided on a Friday. I had made the offer to stay late until around 6pm, long after the other teachers have retired for the day. To be honest, I was a little curious about this man and his role in Milo's home life. The boy seemed happy, but no one knew who exactly was raising him. That Friday, as promised, I stayed in my classroom doing some work, grading papers and getting a start on worksheets for the next week.

I welcome the opportunity to get ahead. If I finished the majority of my workload that night, I would have some spare time for myself on the weekend. I quickly breeze through my tasks, having no distractions, clearly a great boon to my productivity. I entertained the thought of staying behind to catch up on work at the empty school more often.

By the time I looked up for my mounting of class work, I realised I had worked nearly until the middle. meeting time. I knew I was alone in the building. The lights had been turned off in the hallway and the other classrooms. I'd asked the janitor to leave one of the front doors unlocked, assuring them I would lock it when I left the building after I'd gotten done with my meeting. When I heard a clattering noise from down the hallway, I had no initial cause for concern, assuming it was Milo's guardian arriving. As a result of our sparse contact, I was having trouble remembering his name. I had written it down, so,

I discreetly glanced at the post-it note that bore his name and peeked out of my classroom into the empty hallway. Mr. Ireland, I called out, my voice wavering slightly as it echoed down the empty hallway. I figured I was just hearing things, siking myself out with thoughts of being alone

in such a large, empty building. I waited for a few more moments and started to turn away and back to my classroom. When I heard it again, a clattering sound of something being knocked over, followed by hushed whispering. It was muffled, yet I could tell it had come from one of the other rooms close by. Fear washed over my body in a warm, prickly wave.

I mentally brushed it off. Perhaps he didn't know which classroom I was in and accidentally went into the wrong one. I went down the hallway, peeking into different classrooms, and being greeted with a normal sight of stacked chairs and empty desks. I made my way to the side to lab a few doors down When I looked inside My gaze was immediately drawn to an open window I came up with a perfectly reasonable and rational explanation

Someone had just forgotten to close it And some small animal got inside looking for warmth I resolved to go inside and close the window If I saw some sort of animal I would simply close the door and call someone to deal with it When I opened the door and turned on the lights I was immediately greeted with a large, calloused hand grabbing my wrist. My arm was painfully twisted around and forced behind my back.

I choked out a cry of pain as I felt myself being forced down roughly on one of the desks. My arm still held twisted behind me. I raised my head trying to see what was going on. In a fit of self-consciousness, I rude the fact that I allowed myself to become the prime example of a nerdy teacher. Thing with thick horn room glasses. Hell, I even wore Argyl sweat. to vest on occasion. It didn't take much to overpower me. A shadow-clad figure stood up from behind the teacher's desk. I couldn't quite make out his

face, cowled beneath his black hood. He hoisted a duffer bag onto the desk and began rifling through the supply cabinets. Judging by how he was looking at them curiously before tossing them into his bag, he didn't appear to actually know what he was looking for, though I was certainly in pain. I was mostly confused. This was an elementary school science room. What on earth did they think we had? Dead frogs and old magic school bus VHSs were not particularly worth selling. The figure in the other side of the room spoke.

We can't have him ratting us out. It's your turn. You do it. But he didn't even look up from his perusal of random cleaning chemicals as he granted his companion permission to kill me. The gravity of this situation didn't fully register with me until I felt the weight of the second person pressed hard into my back, followed by a long knife slamming into the wooden desk

mere millimeters from my left cheek. Can I make it messy? The crushing weight holding me down, inquired. They made no effort to hide the giddiness in their voice. It made my blood run cold. He was enjoying this. No, dumbass, joke about it or something. The other figure scoffed in reply.

I... I won't tell. I managed to croak out. My throat was parched, the fear making it nearly impossible to speak. I didn't understand how this was happening. Just a minute or two beforehand, I'd been grading papers, oblivious to the drastic turn my life was about to take. I didn't need to die. I hadn't seen their faces, and even if I had, nothing in this room was worth my life. At that moment, I utterly thought of Milo.

I wasn't upset over how waiting to meet his guardian put me in the situation But rather I was worried how he would react if he heard his teacher have been killed I didn't want that child to go through any more hardship Especially not when he may feel responsible for it He had already lost two parents He was only just now beginning to open up and become happy I don't know if he would recover if he blamed himself for my death I was in such a state of shock and frozen with fear

that struggling for my life hadn't even occurred to me until I heard another noise coming from near the door. Do you need some help? It was a moment before I realized that I recognised that voice. It was Milo's guardian. He must have been walking past the door on his way to my classroom, peeking in when he noticed it was ajar. But who in their right mind would see a situation like this

and ask such an innocuous question in such a calm voice? Damn! The man across the room cursed When he heard another person come into the room He joked away from what he was doing And knocked over an array of glass speakers The sound of shattering glass Finally roused me from my stupor

I wits my head back Connecting with what felt like the man's nose I kept back with all my strength Aiming for his knee And by some miracle I managed to trip the one That was holding me down The knife remained embedded in the desk If I'd had the presence of mind

I'd have grabbed it My focus was primarily on my arm, which throbbed violently from being held at such an unnatural angle for so long. I opened my mouth to yell at Mr. Ryland to run, a strangled squeak, the only thing that escaped. He stood in the doorway, a friendly smile plastered on his face, as if all of this was perfectly normal. I heard another pop and thought it might be glass-breaking. It happened so fast my mind didn't fully process what had happened. The sound was followed by a jagged hole. appearing a Mr. Ryland's cheek.

He turned on his heel as if someone had just punched him in their face. His smile never faltered. Before he fell, I had three more pops, followed by three holes blooming across his chest.

I felt a scream brewing within my chest as I was tackled and wrestled to the ground. The one who threatened me with a knife so eager to paint the walls of my blood was merely a teenager. He appeared to be in some sort

stimulant drug, his massive pupils rimmed with a sliver of hazel iris, and his gaunt-faced marred with a multitude of scabs in varying stages of healing. I felt the air being forced from my lungs. I tended to recover, but the boy sat in my chest, clasping both hands around my neck and proceeding to tighten with a vice-like grip. I thrashed with all my might. I ineffectively clawed at his hands, cursing my bad habit of chew my nails to nubs. I really thought I was going to die at that moment, and yet I wished it had only been me, that Marlo's guardian hadn't shown up that night. Both of my parents were in a retirement home, and they didn't know who I was half of the time. I wasn't a single person to miss me, aside from my current class of kids. I wanted to fight for

them, I needed to, but I was too weak. Any fight I had in me had long since been exhausted. As my vision started to fade, my head pounded with every beat of my panicked heart. I was certain these next few seconds would be my last. Much to my relief, my attacker was unceremoniously thrown off of me. I coughed and gasped, my lungs burning for air. While I was slowly recovering, I was still quite disoriented and far too weak to see who would come to my rescue. Weezing, my neck, likely already wearing a necklace of finger-shaped bruises, I finally managed

to sit up, cautiously scanning my surroundings to make sense of what was going on. My attacker was slumped on the floor. Dust drifted down like snowflakes from the dent his body made in the drywall. He wasn't moving, decidedly no longer a threat. So, I allowed myself to look away and tried to find the second person, the one I knew had a gun. To my immense confusion, my eyes landed upon Mr. Ryland, forcing the man in the hoodie against the desk, their faces inches away, and what at first glance might seem like an intimate moment. Aside from the fact, I knew I had seen the man shot several times.

I sent something sinister in the air around them. For a few seconds, I had seen him. Mr. Ryland looked almost like a 1950s father. Black, neatly trimmed hair, and even spoke with that old-fashioned transatlantic accent. Staring at it now, I felt like his face was just... Wrong. His smile took the corners of his. of his mouth much too far, nearly to his ears. His eyes were far too bright. A glowing white

light emanating from within, I could not be explained away as merely a reflection of light from the room. His teeth looked a bit too large and a bit too sharp. I could see a wave like distortion radiating from his mouth, almost too faint to notice. From how the hooded man was sweating, I realized it was heat. Oh, you insolent moronic soul. We had been tracking you after the trouble you caused, robbing that gas station and killing their poor, innocent clerk. The boss was none too pleased about that, but you were both so low on our list. You had at least a week left of your worthless life before I came to find you. What was your plan? Rubbed the school, cook meth, run from this city?

You watch far too much television boy. Mr. Raleighlin's voice remained steady, up until the last word, twisting into a demonic snarl that made my heart leap. into my throat. I watched a deep sense of foreboding, weighing heavily in my stomach, like a stone as Mr. Rylund's face grew increasingly monstrous. The longer he spoke, the less human he looked. His voice dropped several registers, now low and rasping. In a matter of seconds, Mr. Rylund was tearing over the man, grasping him with newly clawed

hands. I wanted to look away from that terrible face, her face now elongated, forming a snout to made him look wolf-like. Thick ropes of saliva were freely dripping from his fanged moor directly under the other man's face, now frozen in terror. That would soon prove to be the least of his worries. I felt myself start to shake. I couldn't help it.

Everything was just too surreal for me to handle. I swayed in my feet, unsure if I would be able to remain conscious. The movement made the monster, formerly known as Mr. Island, raise its head. The last thing I recalled, before everything faded to black, as a lost consciousness, was a souless eyes boring into me. From across the room, when I woke up,

I was on my classroom floor beside my desk. A coat had been placed under my head as a makeshift pillow. My throat was sore, as expected. I felt a hand very gently tapped the side of my face, and I saw not only Milo, but Mr. Ryland looking down on me, the concern visible on both their faces. Are you all right?

I came for a meeting and found you passed out, Mr. Ryland explained as I slowly sat up. I really wanted to believe it had all been a dream, just a horrible dream, but I couldn't. My throat still hurt, and I knew it was bruised. And, most curiously, Mr. Ryland still had bullet holes in his shirt. Your shirt, I said, barely able to speak. I saw Mr. Ryland's face darken. He still had a smile on his face, but it now meant something else. We both knew it. I knew that he wasn't human, and I shuffled in front of Milo, protecting him.

Did you do something to my teacher? Milo cried. His guardian cast his eyes downward bashfully. Do we have to move now? I don't want to change schools again. The boy sounded so crushed. It sounded like his worst fear had come true. Milo, how about you go outside and play for a bit?

I doubt we'll need to move, but I still need to speak with your teacher for a moment. Milo gave him as withering of a glare as an eight-year-old boy could possibly muster. He carefully stepped out from behind me and walked over, giving Mr. Rylan a swift kick to his side. It didn't look like he held back. Don't be mean to him. With that final order, the boy left.

I was very impressed by him standing up to whatever creature was raising him. Now, I suppose you're going to have some questions, Mr. Rowland started. He let me click my thoughts. I stood up and found my water bottle on my desk, taking a few sips before attempting to speak. Is, is Milo human? Is he safe with you? And what about those men that attacked us? I asked. My voice hoarse.

Mr. Ryland brightened up. His smile was so kind and fatherly, I almost forgot what he truly looked like. Milo is safe with me. I would never harm him. As for those two, let's just say they won't be found. I put them away for later,

and you won't be questioned about the breaking. I'll take care of it. His kind smile had dropped, and the horrible white smile returned. Unable to stop himself, his face distorted a bit, and he drooled a little, thinking about whatever he had planned for the two he had taken. Realising he let his human mask slip, he forced his face back to a normal one, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his shirt sleeve. He muttered an apology. What are you?

I asked, unsure if I even wanted an answer. I cannot tell you. names have power, words of power, but you've been so kind to Milo, so I shall grant you some information. I am currently engaged in a contract with a very powerful man of the city. He's in charge of most of the shady dealings in the area. Think of myself as the hitman for the mob. Instead of being paid in money for my tasks, I demand certain other things. That's how I came across my little Milo.

His words made my skin crawl, but I let him keep talking. I was worried about the boy, wondering if living with this creature was really the best thing for him. Milo was sold to our organisation for drug money by his own mother. She had overdosed shortly after. I am unaware of how his father died, likely an overdose as well. I'm a fickle thing, and don't often know what to ask for as a reward for my tasks. I have no useful money after all. At times I would like some humans with certain...

Well, let's just call them talents. And at other times, I'm content with a tasty morsel. Because no one is ever certain of what I want as payment for my work, my life was put in front to me. I picked him up, fully planning on letting him age like fine wine until he would taste the most tender. But, he trailed off, looking around the room, as if the educational posters and quirky motivational sayings

was suddenly very interesting. I waited, not wanting to derail his train of thought. How strange it was for a creature such as myself to scoop up a child. I've lived for a long time, a very, very long time. I've watched humans build up cities and tear them down again. I've had so many different cities in my own, encountered so many different humans, done everything there is to be done.

I've had countless lovers. and eaten countless humans, I've drifted through history as a hidden darkness enjoying myself, content with a cycle of job and reward. That smile came back, his face stretching back, looking like he was unable to contain his glee from past exploits.

I backed against my desk, trying to put as much distance possible between myself and this creature. I feared I would be the next human he ate, judging by the drool collecting in the corners of his mouth and his rapidly elongated gleaming sharp teeth. Orba, just as I considered running, a more human look came back to his face.

But when I saw Milo, that changed. I don't understand why. I've seen so many humans, and yet this one made me feel like I needed to be there for him, to not harm him, to protect this tiny, delicate thing. I've never felt like that towards anything before. and I doubt I will again.

You're his teacher. I'm sure you must understand how special he is. That boy is so selfless and kind. For the first time in my long life, I felt proud for another. I have all his assignments on the fridge. Did you know that? And all his drawings.

It warms my heart when he talks about school and all his friends. I wanted to meet you because Marlowe speaks so highly of you. Think about that. me wanted to meet a human. I rushed through work to get here, and I didn't even save it because I knew you were waiting. Mr. Ryland was now animated, cheerfully gabbing away. After seeing such a terrible expression on his face,

the one holding such pride made him look like a completely different person. He just looked so human. My fear had faded, and I even felt a small blush of embarrassment come, but remembering that drooling smile made it dry up very fast. It, uh, sounds like you really love him, I sputtered, not knowing what else to say. I suppose I do. His face was so bright and kind, I almost wasn't afraid of him.

Almost. Somehow, he got me talking about Milo's grades, and we managed to have a somewhat normal parent-teacher meeting. My hand still trembled slightly And he was careful not to get too close to me Milo came back into the room It occurred to me then That he shouldn't have been here at all I couldn't get a sitter

So I brought him with me for the meeting Mr. Rylum explained Clearly reading the confusion in my face He had Milo in his arms And they looked like a perfect family Even after what I'd seen I knew this man should be the one Taking care of the boy

Sure, he may be a man-eating nightmare monster, but he was doing right by the child he adopted. He honestly was doing a better job, and he looked like he loved his little boy more than some parents I came across. After I'm eating, Rylan watched over me as I shut off the lights and computers in my room and made sure I got safely to my car.

It felt very awkward. I was still scared of what I had seen and what I knew the man to be. Either not noticing my discomfort, We're being too polite to mention it, he just kept a friendly smile on his face. Oh, um, thanks for saving me. I don't think I've said that yet. Anything for Milo's favourite teacher.

The rest of the year with Milo in my class went as normal as it could. I didn't see Mr. Rowland again. We never spoke of that parent-teacher meeting and another wasn't suggested. True to his word, the breaking was never discovered. The whole thing gave me such a child. vivid night terrace, I had to resort to taking sleeping pills just to knock me out for a few hours so I could function at work. I do miss Milo, though. He was such a good kid. Because I teach high school now, and he's getting older, there's a chance we can meet again in a few years. I'll be

glad to have him as a student. That said, I would only have another meeting with Mr. Ryland during school hours. And with other people around.