CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - “I’m on a baseball card, but I’ve never played baseball” Crepypasta

Starting point is 00:00:01 The mint condition, properly sleeved Isaac Bradley baseball card that I needed for my collection, turned out to be listed from a cellar in an absolute eyesore of a town. Sure, I'm legally obligated to wear my prescription glasses when driving, but in Gary, Indiana, I've never ripped them off my head faster than when I was driving around that hellhole. It was an utterly haunting hellscape, filled with abandoned ruins of houses and lost hope left right and center. If I was breaking the law or not, I simply didn't care anymore. my eyeballs couldn't goddamn breathe. My GPS ended its journey with a ping.

Starting point is 00:00:37 Gravel crunched and popped under my tires as I rolled into the driveway around half-past five. The place was downright decrepit. Cut brown fencing had fallen away from around the property, leaving sharp posts that could have been fit for Vlad the Impaler. Mossy fingers and growth climbed the dilapidated buildings covering its wooden boarded walls and splashes of sage. My years of searching for the end to my glass.

Starting point is 00:01:00 with no avail had brought me here, staring into the abyss of an abandoned house's open-screen door. God help me. Hey man, here to pick up the Isaac Bradley card. I closed the car door behind me as I planted two shoes onto gravel. This heller was a sickly pale and plumped man with two sunken eyes, bloated slimy flesh held up his baggy shirt and slicked hair greased around his face. Bodies pulled from the river never looked far off from how this creep did. I should have turned around and left when he didn't reply, and only stared at me unblinkingly in the shadow of the doorframe. Yet, my collection beckoned me to step forward.

Starting point is 00:01:41 Isaac Bradley beckoned me. From eBay? I prodded him with more details, hoping for both the response to my question and an ease to my nervousness. This guy is exactly the guy you would have expected to be listing auctions from an abandoned house. Intuition is a powerful thing. With every strike closer to the mute man, my subconscious zapped me with a jolt as if to say, Hey, you're risking it all for a piece of cardboard man.

Starting point is 00:02:10 Not just any cardboard brain, it was the cardboard. If you're ever at an unfortunate and unlikely turning point in your life, where you feel the need to burn your money with an addiction by either collecting cards or starting to smoke crack, make sure to choose crack. It's cheaper that way. Looking ahead as I approached, I saw his eyes that were very very much. vacant, glossy globes. They had sunk ghoulishly into his cheekbones, making my heart race as I closed in for a handshake.

Starting point is 00:02:39 I was a couple of metres away from him when he abruptly reanimated and extended one arm, inviting me with a wide, artificial grin. Name's Ernie. Card is right inside. Did you bring cash? My hand almost slid out of his grip. It was as greasy as his face. The smile said Ernest Ernie.

Starting point is 00:03:00 the eyes had Jack Torrance from the shining. Yep, all here, I patted my pocket, leaving some sort of white gooey paint from his hand upon my jeans. Inside we went. The place reeked of dust that littered unkempt furniture, broken floorboards creaked with the raspy gasps of a building never meant to be stepped through again. Take a seat while I grab it for you.

Starting point is 00:03:24 He gestured to one dull, grimy couch. I hadn't really put much thought into it before. but his face was rather deformed. The bridge of his nose was almost nonexistent. Skin from his face met the immediate snub holding two nostrils. He, quite frankly, looked like a gruesome bore, and when he spoke, his voice was high-pitched, like the strange artificial wine of a farmer,

Starting point is 00:03:47 trying to join a group of livestock. I sat down, and pillows collapsed inwards, flicking years of dust into the air. If I wasn't entirely convinced it was a crack den, I was, by the time I itched my arm, as a cockroach scurried under a broken television cabinet. Thoreboard soon creaked above me too. He was searching around for Isaac Bradley with his two meaty legs.

Starting point is 00:04:11 At least, I hoped he was. For a while, I waited and stared out through one of the shattered windows and ripped curtains as I contemplated my life choices that had brought me to this moment. Light streamed through, thus sparkled and looked like small mosquitoes in the setting sun. That's when I saw something quite peculiar. Julia and rectangular shine. I lifted myself out of the seat and adjusted the cushion.

Starting point is 00:04:38 Underneath was a handful of sleeved cards sprawled out across the springy bones in the sofa in between balls of lint. I swooped my hand across the bumpy springs and collected them in a pile before drumming the dust away from my fingers. When I stared at the cards, my lunch lurched to my throat from my stomach. On the card was a Polaroid portrait painting of a pore. decomposing soul that rested one protruding cheekbone upon a stiff, contorted fist. He had two open eyes that still screamed.

Starting point is 00:05:10 Above, he read, lazy bones. My heart rang in my ears and pounded in my head. I couldn't hear him upstairs anymore. I swallowed a lump of sour that tickled my throat. I almost couldn't bring myself to look at more. My fingers shuffled in the next card to the front. The Polaroid in the middle of the card was a shrewd. shoddy, blurry camera shot that depicted a woman sprinting towards a door outside of a house,

Starting point is 00:05:37 one hand clutching the gaping knife holes in a neck, the other stretching out, begging to be let inside before it was too late. I was shaking the card as I read it. Home run. Launching to my feet, I nearly tipped over bits of perked-up rotten floorboard. One of the nails that came out of the wood shot through my rubber shoe and into my flesh like a hot iron, sending a stabbing pain out threw into my ankle. I made it to the front door. I twisted the knob and pushed, but it didn't budge. Back to the living room I went, leaving a long line of blood that gushed out of my shoe like the oil from a leaky truck on a long highway. My elbow snaked around the metal borders of the smash window, one hand feeling around for what I couldn't see. My hand touched metal. BARD in. From the creaking

Starting point is 00:06:25 staircase, the bright camera flash lit up the dim room, and again. He was coming, and I had nowhere to run. My foot ached, yet I clutched my tight chest as I limped towards the kitchen. Click, snap. More flashes of his camera followed behind me as I held one limping leg in the kitchen doorframe. On the kitchen counter, boaters and me, my wife, eyes closed in our bed. Beside his rusty hammer, I caught sight of a card and what was untidly squalled at the top. Sleeping Beauty.

Starting point is 00:06:58 Click, snap. Thoughts stuck with me about grabbing the hammer, but it was already too late. I was limping forward. I circled back to the hallway next to the stairs that he had came down from. It was strange, sure, but in that moment, I couldn't help but still think about the collector's item I had come to pick up. I would grab Isaac Bradley, and we would both make it out of here alive. Without warning, one arm reached around and pulled mine. Turning, I saw the hammer in his other hand.

Starting point is 00:07:29 I warmed and twisted to free myself as white flesh came away from his bloated hands from where he grabbed me just like when I had shaken his hand earlier he glared up at me with vacant eyes over a revolting bloated body that must have been filled with vile decomposing goo

Starting point is 00:07:44 I kicked and kicked before he tumbled down the stairs I climbed the staircase swiftly spotting Polaroids and bits of cardboard he had been stitching together moments before photos of my thin trail of blood upon the mouldy wooden floor, photos of the back of my head turning and limping away. I kept hobbling forward in the hallway, and the camera behind me kept snapping, snapping.

Starting point is 00:08:09 Webb's got caught around my arm as I sluggishly shuffled into the bedroom. My heart that had been pounding in my chest soothed quickly as I caught sight of him, and a warmth of relief spread through me. There he was, upon one disintegrated bedside table, Isaac Bradley. He was so beautifully unique, nothing I had ever seen before. I took the card with two shaky hands, but deep down I knew I would be needing more. More cards for my next perfect collection. Steps sounded beyond the bedroom door I'd shut behind myself.

Starting point is 00:08:44 A thin black line bloomed in the space beneath it. He was outside. Through the window I tumbled, sliding off the roof and hitting the lawn with a thud. Still wincing and struggling from my fallen slip, I almost dropped Isaac on my way to the car when I fumbled my keys. I flung myself into my vehicle and roared off into the setting sun, the men watching me unblinkingly from the screen door through gravel and dust that kicked up behind my trail. Taking a long route home was my best bit in case he gave chase,

Starting point is 00:09:16 though reflecting the cards of me and my wife sleeping, meant he already knew where my apartment was, and my stomach turned. The drive was long, and when I got home, my wife was already sound asleep. I cleaned my wound thoroughly with alcohol and sat on the couch, try my best to recompose. I pulled the six cards out of my pockets, slipping the top one into my leatherback folder

Starting point is 00:09:39 in the last space between all the dated faces of baseball royalty. Bradley was the perfect fit after all these years. My excitement had passed, however. There was something else plaguing me now. I found something more important than Bradley and baseball. The other cards I'd found in Indiana. I slipped them into my hands. The picture was one of them.

Starting point is 00:10:04 The face of the person in the Polaroid wasn't recognisable. However, the card's beauty certainly was. Her features had been distorted to a sickening mush by the impact of a rusty hammer. Beside her head was a large punch bowl filled with maroon dip that had flowed from a scalp like a tap. Filled halfway and to the right of the Polaroid was a tall glass pitcher. My baseball card collection was incredible, but my new collection was turning out to be perfect. Many weeks had passed living in my apartment north of Indiana.

Starting point is 00:10:38 I served eBay for cards occasionally, yet there were none as rare and as beautiful as the pieces Ernie had blessed me with. I loved my wife, but he turned a screaming mug into the rarest card in my collection. I didn't entirely mean for her to die, but her death wasn't in vain. The seller was slowly but surely helping me build my bigger, better collection. Baseball cards were just a memory. Common junk out of the garbage to sell at a pawn shop or a thrift store. If you ever order anything from Gary, Indiana, always opt for postage. But most importantly, don't open your eyes when you wake up and hear the high-pitched whistling coming from the snub where you think a no should be.

Starting point is 00:11:21 I usually pretend to be fast asleep on the night that I wake up. up, finding him standing over my bed, painting or taking photos of me. Those make the rarest cards he tells me, so I leave the door unlocked so we can come in and work. He needs to work in my new collection, my rarest collection. Though, just as my wife had done, there are times when I open my eyes when he stood at the foot of my bed, the times he brings the hammer. Those are the times I scream.

CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - “I’m on a baseball card, but I’ve never played baseball” Crepypasta

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