CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I’m the host of a terrifying new game show 'Let’s Make a Deal with the Devil!'" Creepypasta

Episode Date: January 29, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by CallMeStarr: 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►Anna Podedworna: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/nY...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-

I'm a Amsterdam, why? I've been forgotten how a tooprake. Doy! Toy! With Eurocity direct, though? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in 2-hour. Now, from 19 euro in place of 25. Book you tickets on NMBSInternational.com.

The festival season is aangboken, and that beteked modder. And so, came Kim to Amazon.com.com. On look to a water-dict tent, a comfortable luget, oh, so knus. And Lupeartprint regalards. Now, Kim has Kim, just like him just like modder man, oh, wait just

even, have he now only mudder on? Oh yeah, only mudder. Drowing? Goar for. Find what you need to have on amazon.com.com. Be'er. You ready, Bruce? My producer asks moments before we go live.

You bet, I say. But it's a lie. I'm not ready. Not after last week's fiasco. How could I? I be. I check my mirror any fault in my gut, suck in my then walk out on stage

to a live studio audience. Enter music. The announcer introduces me. I glanced down at my monitor and cringe. The producers make me out to be that sleazy game show host from the days of old,

polyester and all. The camera guts to me, and we're live. All right, I'm happy to be here. I say, do my best, I say, Bob Barker impression. Let's bring out this week's contestant, shall we? I'm looking at the camera, as if asking the folks at home.

And then, cue the audience, let's make a deal with the devil. This contestant takes to the podium. He's a paunchy, middle-aged man, casually dressed with broad shoulders and a generous chin. The camera follows him to the podium. the podium. Meanwhile, the audience is going berserk. Cut to me. Knock it off, I tell the audience

playfully. They hush. Peter McNamara. Tell us a little bit about yourself, why don't you? Cut to Peter, who's wiping his sweat-soaked forehead. Well, Bruce, back in high school, I was leading quarterbacks for the May-to-day Monarchs. State champs, two years running. These days, divorced, divorced. Plus. Saving the best I'm a lifelong charges fan. Crowd cheers. All right Peter.

Are you ready to make a deal with the devil? He was. Great. Then let's bring out Damien, shall we? Cue creepy music. Damien appears out of nowhere and is standing next to Peter. Tell me, I ask, do you know the rules? Peter nods nervously, all the while, glancing at the extremely tall man who appeared out of nowhere, and is now standing next to him, wearing an outlandish devil suit. Great, so Peter, tell Damien and the rest of us, what is it you most desire?

Just remember. Cue the audience. The devil's in the detail. details. Peter is shaking like a leaf. His head looks like a well-polished bowling ball. Well, Bruce, he says, I've given this a lot of thought. Cut to camera three. What I really want is a big old house on the beach and a big old swim pool and a car built like a tank. The crowd agrees. Right away, I see the problem. He didn't stick to the script. What's this built like a tank nonsense?

Where did that come from? Before each show, I sit down with a contestant and tell them how this works. I tell them exactly what to say, when to say it, and more important, what not to say. But the contestants always make a mistake every week, one that ultimately cost them their lives much to the fervour of the audience. to me, my pearly white teeth are plastered across the screen. All right then, let's ask the devil if he's willing to make a deal, shall we? Damien Carey is now tearing over Peter, grinning like a used car salesman.

He looms larger than life, both on and off the screen. Audiences love him. He dresses in a skin-tight red leather suit, pointed red tail, pitchfork and devilhorns. But don't let this ridiculous attire fool you. A distraction. Close-up of Damien, smiling devilishly into the camera. Well, well, well, what do we have here? Damien asks in his guitaral voice.

Peter is it? Hmm. I don't know. You ask for so much, but then you must ask yourself, how badly do you want these things? Are you willing to give your soul? Peter would. He really, really would. Excellent. Damien sneers into the camera.

Just excellent. Camera shows Peter shaking hands with the devil. I take a cautionary step backward, try my darn-dice not to show fear. I don't want to end up like the previous host. Who would? I cannot let that happen to me. Not while everyone is watching. Got to me.

Well, so... ...cue audience... ...that's make a deal with a devil. Camera zooms in on Peter, who is sweating profusely. Arms clenched, open mouth smiling. Cut to me. That's great. But tell me, Satan, what's the catch?

There's always a catch. The catch is Bruce. He leers into the camera with his... Don't tell me I didn't warn you luck. The car will be big, and it'll drive itself. Peter won't have to lift a finger. It'll be a smash. Close-up of Peter, who appears as happy as a pig and feces. I hate the next part. Damien snaps his long and crooked finger.

Poof. Peter is gone. Vanished. The crowd is aghast. They think this is all TV trickery. As the camera cuts the Damien, Damien, and somehow wagging his tail, I recall how the previous host died. I can't get that image out of my head. They're still trying to scrape his stains of the floor, right where I'm standing, no less. But hey, the ratings speak for themselves.

Give the people what they want. Damien is doing his devil's schick, and the audience is applauding him. Millions of viewers are watching, waiting for the inevitable carnage that will soon unfold. Meanwhile, the knots in my multiplying. My left leg is shaking. I'm stone-cold terrified. Cut to a beach house

where a group of parties appear on the screen, showing off their California tans, sipping exotic drinks from colorful straws while they lounge around a large swimming pool in skimpy outfits. Cut to Peter, who's got a drink in each hand and a cheesy grin stamped across his face. Peter has become a little bit of a drink the embodiment of the American dream right before our eyes.

The audience rages on. I shudder. My stomach fills with butterflies. I know what's coming. If I square this next part up, I'll see my career in hell. Camera cuts to me. So, Peter, tell the audience at home, how does it feel to finally have your dream home on the beach?

to Peter, the girls in the background are whooping and hollering about. I'll tell you what, Bruce, he says, sipping his drink, enjoying the view. It feels great. What comes next will haunt me at night, when the lights are off and the camera is put away. Some things in life are impossible to forget, even for heartless Hollywood vampire types like myself. Cut to Damien, standing next to me, too close for comfort. But, Peter,

His voice, I can see, You do like, you. You You do like the swimming pool, don't you? Screen shows Peter, grinning ear to ear. Good. Well then, Damien says, Licking his moist red lips.

Let's cut to the chase. I think it's time to bring out the new car. Damien snaps his finger and a shiny new heart. Hummer appears in the driveway. He's standing next to it, dangling a golden set of keys. I have no idea how he does this, or where those cameras come from. I'm not allowed to ask, we're just fine by me. Some things are best unknown. Zoom in on Peter, who's running arms out

to the driveway, carrying his fruit-filled drinks. The audience ooze and ars. Wide shot. of Damien and Peter, standing toe to toe in front of the homer. The homer glistens under the warm California sun. You asked for a big car. Am I right? Damien asks in a bombastic voice. Um, yes, Damien, I did. Well, is this one big enough? Peter nods approvingly. Excellent. So, what do you say, Peter? Want to take it for a ride? Peter does Damien

He and Peter Suddenly he and Peter Inside the homer Seat belts and all Peter's drinks are nowhere to be seen People at home think this is studio trickery It isn't

Which is one of the reasons Why I'm scared to death I don't know how I ever talk myself Into this gig Cut the dash cam inside the vehicle Damien is outwardly pleased. He leans into the camera. Good. Cue the audience. The devils in the details.

They speed off. Peter's head thrusts back as they tear out the driveway under the busy beachside boulevard. Damien is smiling, stone-cold murder searing in his eyes. My hate for this madman is only outmatched by my fear of him. It's a good thing the camera is off me, because I'm looking like I'm about to puke. Cut to the helicopter cam. The audience watches with glee as the murder spree plays out. First, the Hummer guns down a beautiful young woman on rollerblades, blindsiding her. Her body disappears as the perilous vehicle effortlessly runs over her.

Blood splashes across its shiny chrome grill, as though biting into a strawberry full of razor blades. The audience They want more They'll get it Cut the dashboard cam Peter looks worse than I feel Is freaking out Damien's devil may care grin

Is stretched across his long Reddened face You're gonna love this next part Peter Multi-screen with dashcom and helicam Shows the Hummer veering left onto the sandy beach One man's head gets crushed like a grape his brains splatter across his finely chiselled chest. His left eyeball lost in the many crevices of the crimson sand

while his lifeless body lies flattened on his blood-soaked beach towel. Beside him, a figure rests in twisted ruins with tie-tracks tattooed across the sun-kissed corpse. His arms dangle futilely from its socket like a noose swaying in the breeze. The third victim is caught in the grill of the homer. It does a few backflips as the vehicle comes to a halt. Its body falls limply onto the warm sand and stays there,

blood and body parts and sun tan lotion and all. Got to me, do my darnedest to appear casual. Incredible stuff, Damien, I say, wearing my staple on smile. That was one heck of a bargain you got there, Peter. Does the audience agree with me, or what? They do. Good. I hope each and every one of you at a lot.

home agrees too. Got to Damien, standing at the podium next to me, twirling his long devil tail, smug as a bug on a rug. His eyes meet mine and fill me with dread. Close up of me, my leg refusing to stay still. Let's see how things are going with Peter, shall we? Wide shot of the beach. The scene is horrific. Police everywhere, trying to regulate the manic crowd, who, moments ago, were enjoying a picturesque afternoon on the beach. Camera zooms in on the girl wearing the rollerblades, lying face down in a pool of blood, her neck snapped like a twig, her bleach-bund hair slathered in blood and tiny specks of brain.

Multicam shows Peter from every angle as he tumbles out of the Hummer. The cops arrive in droves. They have him surrounded. Every bullet in America is pointed at him. He's crying, flam, flowing from his ruby red nose like honey from a razor's edge. The cops are giving him orders, but he doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he's fumbling for his keys, talking gibberish. His keys slip from his fingers. The audience is biting their nails. Multicam shows me, trying not to vomit. I'm holding it back as best as I can. can. The show's almost over, I tell myself. I can make it through this. Then I'm safe. Until next

that is. Close-up of Peter reaching for his keys. And that's the last thing he'll ever do. Multicam shows Peter from every possible angle as a banquet of bullets polarizes flesh and bone. He flounders like a bloody rag doll as his breast. explodes into a million pieces like ravioli hitting a fan then he falls flat on his bullet-ridden face that's the end of peter magnaura the audience rages on cut to me i'm ghost-white and shaking like a leaf it looks like peter got the wrong end of that bargain Much applause. Q music. in on Damien standing over me, squeezing my shoulder, staring down at me with a deranged

smile stamped across his demonic face. My legs still twitching, my stomach stilling knots. Well, folks, I say, with as much bravado as I can muster, be sure to tune in next week and try to have yourself a good night. I look forward to seeing you again next week on. Q- Let's make a deal The devil