CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I’ve Been a Cop for 20 Years. Nothing Prepared Me For What Happened Last Night" Creepypasta

Episode Date: June 28, 2025

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saint ZanderCreepypastas 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...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep web" ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher, and...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creepypasta  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / 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

License and registration. The driver flinched, blinked a few times, and scrambled for the glove box. He panicked, missed a latch. When he finally opened it, paper spilled out, and he sat there frozen before scooping them up. I've been a police officer for two decades. Night shifts out in the country usually meant nothing more than drunk drivers, runaways from one of the nearby shelters or coyote calls from ranchers. with loose fencing.

It was rare for anything to linger in my mind after a shift ended. Most of it was the same monotony, repeated again and again, but that night was different. That one etched itself in slow, vivid pieces, I still haven't managed to fully pull apart. The moon had been high and full, casting a silver wash over everything. I was parked off Country Road 8, half asleep, when a car zoomed past me, going at least two times the speed limit. I sighed and figured it was just another guy out too late, probably drinking. I flipped my lights on and found them pulled over near the bend without much resistance.

I walked up to the driver's side. The car was an old Toyota, probably early 2000s, primer patches on the fender, muffler rattling. Both men inside looked wrecked. The driver was gripping the wheel hard enough that I could see the tension pushing veins through the skin. His hair was flattened with sweat. The guy in the passenger seat stared forward, not blinking, hands in his lap. That's where it all began. The driver handed me his license with both hands finally.

His voice cracked when he spoke. Can you give us a fine? Anything, please, we really, we just need to go. I ignore their nagging and instead asked what I always ask. Have you two been drinking? They both answered, but not together. They looked at each other first, silently, like they were trying to argue how much to admit. Then the driver said no, passenger echoed it.

his voice low and scratchy. I looked them both over again. All right, I'm going to run your information. Turn the vehicle off for me. The driver hesitated, but ultimately killed the ignition. I returned to my cruiser and ran the plate in driver's name. Nothing suspicious. Nothing at all, actually.

The owner of the vehicle matched the driver. everything came back clean. When I returned to their window, they had gotten significantly worse. The driver's head was twitching toward his shoulder every few seconds like a muscle spasm. The passenger was in a similar condition. When the driver spoke again, his voice had a strain that sounded close to breaking. You don't understand. We have to go. We're out of time, sir.

can we just go now? That's when I started getting angry. Everyone always had somewhere to go. It gets old. I told him to keep his hands on the wheel and to relax. This doesn't have to be a big thing. You listen, I listen. You're making this worse by acting jumpy.

I'm going to need you to perform a field sobriety test for me. The driver's eyes darted to the mirror and then to the trees ahead. His leg was bouncing now, heel-thumping against the floorboard. We don't have time, please. I took a deep breath, stepped back, and started a circle toward the back of the vehicle to get them out. That was when the engine roared to life again.

Tires screamed against the dirt shoulder as they shot forward, fish-tailing back onto the road and vanishing around the bend. I stood there for a second, blinking. My first thought was, What the hell are you running from? I sprinted to the cruiser, threw the door open, and called it in. This is Unit 18.

We got a 1080, fleeing vehicle, Silver Toyota, heading eastbound on Country Road 8. Two occupants, I'm in pursuit. The tires spat gravel as I pulled out onto the road behind them. The moon followed us both, glaring and wide. The car struggled to hold a line. It swerved out of its lane every time the tires gripped, overcorrected and skidded. The taillights bounced in and out of view ahead of me.

Ahead of us was a wooden sign. Camp winding pines, youth retreat. The trees thinned ahead and the gravel turned to soft earth. My headlights caught the rear of the car as it fish stalled sideways, back tires chewing up dust and pine needles. The engine revved again but lost traction entirely. I saw the nose of the Toyota swing off the road and the whole car vanished through the tree line. A split second later, there was the sound of branches snapping and a hollow metallic thud. I hid the brakes and through the cruiser into park.

My boot hit the dirt before I'd finished radioing the update. Vehicles crashed east perimeter of winding pines, approaching scene now. My blood was hot. My thoughts weren't entirely rational, because all I could focus on was the fact that they'd gone from a routine stop to endangering everyone at that camp and themselves too. I pulled the flashlight and unsnapped my pistol holster just in case. People typically get dangerous when cornered, and this is about as cornered as you can be. They had to have a reason for speeding away like that.

The car had come to a stop against a thick pine. The front end crushed in but not folded. Steam hissed from the hood. A branch had punctured through the back window and scattered glass across the back seat. Put your hands where I can see them, I shouted. No movement. I approached the driver's side, light cutting through the cabin. The driver's airbag had gone off.

He was slumped against it, head back, mouth open. A thin line of blood ran from his eyebrow to his cheek. He was breathing. I swung the beam to the passenger side. The guy in the passenger seat hadn't survived. His arms were bent under him and his legs were angled against the passenger side. a side seat in a way I didn't think was even possible. The neck hung off his collarbone, head tipped unnaturally, with a jaw slack and lopsided.

It was a grotesque scene. That's when the driver gasped awake. He fought with a seatbelt for a second and shoved the door open, landing on all fours in the dirt. I stepped up fast and pointed the flashlight at him. What the hell do you think you were doing? You ran from a stop and killed your friend. Over what? He didn't answer.

He didn't even look at me. He rolled onto his back, eyes skyward, then suddenly turned over again and started scrambling to his feet. I grabbed for his wrist, but he tore away, stumbling once before crashing into the tree line. God damn it, I snarled and ran after him. Low branches clawed at my shirt, pine-need. was filled my boots. The sound of him moving ahead wasn't fast or steady. He was desperate and clumsy. I caught up to him near a slope where the tree cover thickened. He was crouched with one

hand pressed to the dirt and the other to his chest, trying to breathe. Sweat poured off him in waves, soaking through the color of his shirt and streaking down his arms. His pupils were huge, swallowing almost all the color. I grabbed him by the elbow and pinned him against the pine trunk. Hey, are you on something? You high. I held my grip and looked him over again. His pulse was racing under my thumb. You need Narcan? Tell me now.

He didn't answer right away. And people that need Narcan usually never do. His mouth opened and close a few times before anything came. out. What did make it out? Didn't make sense. Listen, you, if you just, if you hide now, maybe I won't know you are nearby. I'd seen overdoses before, plenty of them. Some twitch and mutter, others go still and drop. This looked like the textbook interpretation of a situation when Narcan was to be administered ASAP. I told him to stay with me and started guiding him back the way we came.

He walked with me, barely. It almost seemed like he was trying to fight my grip, but he was too weak. He dragged his feet and his breath scraped through his throat, eyes darting wildly. We made it to the tree line and I got him to the cruiser. The back seat was clean. I helped him in, close the door. and stepped back. I reached for the radio on my shoulder.

Dispatch, this is Unit 18. I've got one fatality of the crash site and one possible overdose. Suspect is incoherent, requesting EMS priority. I went around to the front of the cruiser and opened the glove box, pulled the Narcan kit free, check the spray and turned back.

The shouting coming from the back of the vehicle stopped me. It was a low, thick, clicking sound, almost like retching, but wetter. I stepped around and aimed the flashlight at the rear window. He was shaking. His whole body was moving with these wild spasms, his limbs flailing against the seat, and his jaw snapping open and shut. He started to break apart.

It began at the arms, skin pulling apart in long, wet lines, muscles swelled underneath it, raw and coiled, growing outward. Thick strands of fur pushed through the seams. His shirt tore open at the chest, then peeled away as his shoulders expended, bones cracked and reset themselves. I heard them go one at a time, snapping like twigs underfoot. His mouth opened in a silent scream, and a second row of fangs pushed out of his gums while the original teeth dropped into his lap.

His face stretched forward as the skull reshaped, eye-circuit shifting as they sat further apart. A snout forced its way forward, the cartilage crunching as it grew. The cruiser exploded outward as it launched itself through the window. The back half of the car ripped open, metal screamed and plastic shattered. I staggered back and drew my sidearm,

took aim and fired. One, two, three. The shots hit. They had to have. I saw dark bursts bloom through the fur. But it didn't drop. It didn't even flinch. Then it stopped moving.

Its nose twitched, turning toward the direction of the camp. There was a noise off in the distance, somewhere far beyond the trees. It sounded like a bell or something similar. It heard it, and it started running toward the youth camp. Its whole body dropped low, and it moved on all fours, fast and lopping. Each stride pushed it deeper into the woods until I couldn't see it anymore. I stood in front of the scene I'd just witness with my gun still up, frozen in time.

I raised the radio to my mouth with a hand. that wouldn't stay still. My finger hesitated on the transmit button because I didn't know what to say. My head was still ringing, but that wasn't why my voice came out unsteady. This is Unit 18. I paused and tried again.

Someone is heading toward camp winding pines, um, big, heavily armed, I think. My vehicle is destroyed, and he, he ran off toward the camp. I need backup now. Emergency priority. The reply didn't take long. Copy that, unit 18. The nearest support is 60 minutes out.

Drop a support is unavailable. Do you need medical? I stared at the room back of my cruiser. I didn't waste time trying to rationalize what I'd seen. If I stood there thinking about it, I wasn't going to move. I keyed the mic again. Negative unmed, I'm going in. I let the radio fall back to my shoulder, then turned toward the trunk.

It took some force to pry it open. The frame had twisted when the back exploded out. I grabbed the shotgun from inside, wrecked it to make sure it was live, and checked the sling for rounds I kept clipped in a side pouch. I jogged up the trail, following the dirt where its weight had torn into the soil. They were wide at the front. and dragged behind, deep enough to catch a boot heel and trip someone if they weren't careful. Up ahead, tucked behind a split rail fence with a cheap floodlight flickering against the roof.

I went up and knocked hard against the window. A man inside jolted awake and nearly spilled a styrofoam cup from the desk. I raised my badge before he had any chance to say anything. Police, Officer Dunley, something's loose in the camp. I need you with me. Are you armed? He blinked at me, still halfway out of sleep, and nodded.

Yeah, what's going on? There's something in the camp. I don't know what, but the kids aren't safe. He stared at me a second longer, and I could see the disbelief behind his eyes. But a moment later, he opened the drawer and pulled out a pistol, tucked it into a hip holster, and locked the door behind him.

We started toward the center of the camp. He finally spoke behind me. Are you going to tell me what we're looking for? I didn't stop walking. You wouldn't believe me. I just saw a police officer walk out the woods looking manic. You might be surprised what I'll believe tonight. I didn't answer.

He picked up his pace to match mine. The kids, they were. all inside right now, I asked. Yeah, we just got here today. I drove the kids here. Most are probably asleep. Staffed us lights out around 10. It's a full week retreat. They get the run of the place during the day, bonfires, archery, swimming, all that. A night, disposed the staying cabins. What's out here? I didn't have answers. Every question he asked was something I'd already tried to ask myself and come up shit. short. After a while, I raised the hand and told him to stop asking so many questions I didn't know.

We cleared the brush line and the tree cover opened. Ahead of us was the center trail, wide enough to fit a vehicle. On the left, two cabins faced each other across a patch of lawn, and at the end of the trail, angled slightly toward the turn loop, was a bus. As we approached the cabins. I slowed and lowered the barrel of the shotgun. The guard caught up beside me, still scanning the dark. Tell me how this place is laid out, I said. He glanced around and started pointing. There are six cabins in total, all lined up in two rows, three on each side. Staff buildings over there past the main trail, near the mess hall. We've got a generator shared behind that, and the first aid hut closer to the low.

lake. No perimeter fencing, but we've never needed it. And inside, I asked. Each cabin's got two rooms, one for the kids and one for the staff assigned to them. Usually a counselor or a teacher sleeps in the same space or the next room. How many in each? This group is light, maybe six or seven per right now. We stopped outside the nearest door. The building was quiet. The building was quiet. A single bulb over the entryway flickered but stayed on. I looked through the window. Nothing but the outline of bunks in the dark. Here's what we're doing, I said.

We go in quiet, wake the adult first. You help them get the kids up. No screaming, no explaining. Tell them to head to the bus. Stay low, stay quiet. Once they're there, they crouch behind it and wait. He swallowed hard. then nodded.

I pushed the door open. It led out a creek, but not enough to wake anyone. The air inside was stale, heavy with the warmth of sleeping bodies. I moved toward the back, where I could make out a single adult figure in the bed along the far wall. I leaned in close and shook their shoulder once. They stirred and squinted at me. Police stay quiet, I whispered, flashing my back. Wake the kids, get them dressed enough to move, tell them as a drill if you need to, lead them to the bus and crouch behind it.

The teacher nodded and sat up fast, already calling out in a low voice to the bunk nearest to her. The kids began to stir. The next few minutes passed without a sound louder than soft shuffling and half-whispers. The children dressed in silence. The teacher guiding them out one by one, leading the group with a hand pressed to the wall. I stood at the threshold and watched until the last pair ducked into the dark

headed toward the bus. The guard moved beside me, his hand on his weapon, breathing unevenly. One down, I said. We didn't linger. We moved onto the second location. We eased in, flashlight low,

barely tracing the floor. Bunk beds lined both walls. The kids and them were out cold, limbs tangled and thin sheets. Some had toys on their pillows, shoes beside the frame, an old paperback box slipped beneath mattresses. I stepped between two of the beds, careful not to let my boots squeak on the waxed floor. No movement, no sounds except snoring

and the soft click of the cabin window panes shifting against the breeze. This cabin was bigger. We woke the teacher up. gave them the same commands and got underway to the next room. In the third room, it was the same drill. On the fourth one, however, the door's base had visible claw marks on it. I motioned to the guard, and we took our positions on either side. I opened it slowly.

I could feel it before we even stepped inside. A drop in the air pressure. My flashlight scanned the bunks. Kids were asleep, and I kept scanning the room, looking for anything. The security behind me let out an audible gulp and touched my shoulder. I turned to look at him, but he didn't speak. He pointed up. Above us, pressed against the beams between the rafters.

It was watching. Its claws were buried in the wood, six of them spread outward to anchor its weight. The arms were stretched long and sinewy, joints bowed out in unnatural angles. Its stomach rose and fell with short breaths. Mucous hung from its mouth in strands. Its chest was still wet from the transformation. Patches of fur matted to bear, swollen muscle. It stared at the smallest bed in the room.

The girl in it had a face turned up, breathing through her mouth, one arm hanging over the edge. of the mattress. I raised the shotgun and fired. The blast lit the room in one flash, the slug tore to its shoulder, ripping a chunk of its back out. It roared. No, it screamed, something deeper than anything I'd ever heard to this day. Kids woke up instantly, and chaos erupted. I pumped the shotgun and fired again. This time the thing moved. It came down fast, not a fall, but a lunge that ripped it free of the ceiling and sent pieces of beam flying with it. I tried to shoot once more as it hit the floor, but before I could even so much as take another step, it slammed its arm into my weapon and shattered it clean in half. The guard shouted behind me, the monster rammed into him and knocked him

against the back wall. Then it disappeared through the open door in a blur of limbs. I stood there, holding the ruined half of my shotgun, my arm's shaking, lungs heaving. Get the kids to the bus,

I shouted, turning toward the guard. Now, move! He stumbled up, paled and wide-eyed, but he nodded. We hanged open the rest of the doors and started dragging everyone awake. Anyone who asked what was going on got told to move on. Some listened, some hesitated.

I shoved them forward. Screaming started in the distance. Not children. Adults. Someone farther in the camp in a separate spot. I turned toward it but didn't move. I couldn't go. If I left now, even to try and stop it,

the kids would be put in danger. Keep them moving, I told the guard. Get them to the dam bus. I'll follow. Go. I stayed behind them, waiting for it to show again. The only thing I had now was my 9mm. Nothing worth using, but I had to try.

The bus came to life, cutting through the noise of crying children and panicked adults. The last few teachers climbed on, pushing kids down the aisle. I looked out toward the woods once more. The trees were quiet. and somehow that was worse. I boarded last and the door slammed shut behind me. The guard sat in the driver's seat, white-knuckled on the wheel, eyes flicking between the road and the mirrors. I walked the aisle, gun drawn, scanning every window.

The bus groaned as it moved forward. I felt each shift in the tires, every bump of dirt and gravel. We got back on the road. and kept moving at a steady pace. I was near the back of the bus, facing the left side, and suddenly, through the trees, there was movement.

It was running, keeping up with the bus. Its gate was off. One arm hung limp at his side, still dragging. The arm I'd hit with a shotgun. The other clawed forward with each leap, digging through brush, flinging it behind.

Its face was set forward, mouth open, eyes locked onto the vehicle. I shouted toward the front. Faster, go, don't slow down. The trees gave way to the slope that led down toward the bridge. I could feel the edge of it coming. It jumped. The impact shook the entire frame. The roof bowed inward and metal parked near the rear.

Kid screamed in every direction. The bus tilted for a moment before rocking back into balance. Something's on the roof. Is something on the roof? The guard shouted. He slammed the brakes for a second, but the whole chassis veered, wheels catching the edge of the bridge. We can't swerve, I barked.

Keep it straight and we're never going over. The bus started to shake again. The weight shifted from front to back as the creature. moved. You could hear the metal strain with every step it took across the roof. In a split second, a massive claw tore through the ceiling above the driver's seat, ripping down clean through the thin steel. The guard didn't even have time to scream. The strike came fast, and his head separated from his shoulders in a clean, diagonal motion. His body twitched once, then slumped sideways, arm locked against the wheel.

The bus tilted hard to the right, then it flipped. Metal tore against pavement, screams drowned everything. The lights inside cut out and my body slammed into the back seat in front of me. I remember the sound of window shattering, the screech of steel folding, and the wet thump of bodies hitting the walls. We slid to a stop. Smoke seeped in from somewhere behind me. I was on my side, faced mash against the wall, and my vision blurred.

I heard screaming, but not from inside. Through the cracked windshield and side panels. I could see it. Its arms had wrapped through part of the roof's metal lattice, caught in the bend. Its legs thrashed against the air, claws tearing through the breeze, searching for traction. It was still attached to the bus, its arm. Its other useless arm was dangling in the air outside.

Its weight was pulling the whole vehicle forward. The bus had stopped on the slope, near the drop. The concrete barry outside was cracked and sunken. If it tipped, we'd go over. The monster screamed again, voice roar and furious, spit raining down through the cracks. Every time it flailed, the nose of the bus dipped a little first. further down toward the edge. I pushed myself up, head swimming.

If it kept pulling, the bus was going into the river, and we'd go with it. I grabbed my pistol from beside me and moved toward the front. Every inch I crawled made the bus shift. The people around me were mostly unconscious, but was slowly stirring awake, causing the bus to list even more. I pressed my shoulder to the wall and used to the wall. the seats that guide myself forward. The smoke inside the cabin had thickened.

I raised the pissed lop at an angle from the side of one of the cracked windows, aimed center mass, and pulled the trigger until the slide locked back. Countless rounds punched through. It screamed, head snapping back once, but didn't fall. It was completely stuck. I dropped the gun. It was useless now. I looked around for anything I could do or use.

The shattered plastic and hanging wire offered nothing. I looked at the front panel by the windshield. There was a fire axe mounted. The bus was old, so old that it still had a fireax. The glass over the case had already been cracked from the impact. I slammed my elbow into it and broke through. My fingers wrapped around the handle and I yanked it free. The blade looked older than me, but it was solid.

I didn't have time to second guess it. I crawled the last few feet, pushing through snap seat supports and shattered glass. The closer I got, the more it thrashed. Its body was angled down now, and it had made progress in its thrashing, but I needed to send it down for good. I brought the axe down. The first strike sank into the muscle. above its wrist. It screamed and flailed maniacly, enough to tear across my forearm. Warm blood poured from the cut. I didn't stop. I raised the axe again and brought it down where the elbow

had bent backward into the metal. The joint cracked. It loosened. I hit again and again. The tendon finally snapped. The rest of the body fell free, but the mangled. arm stayed stuck. The monster dropped away screaming, claws raking empty air, then vanished into the dark gorge below. The scream echoed for a few seconds, then cut off.

The bus groaned again and shifted. We needed to get out of there fast. For a moment, no one moved. A teacher near the middle broke the silence and began yelling for everyone. want to stay calm and get out as soon as possible. I limped back along the floor, holding the cut across my arm with my palm to stop the bleeding.

I helped the nearest ones get out first, guided them through the back panel as it opened. Other adults took over from there, ushering the kids onto the road and away from the bus. Smoke still clung to everything. My vision blurred from the blood loss and the ringing in my ears. I could barely feel my legs. Once everyone was off, I lowered myself down from the rear of the bus.

I remember stepping onto the pavement, still carrying the axe, and standing there without saying anything while the kids huddled together behind me. Everyone was covered in ash and blood and smoke. But... We were alive. The bus led out a low-grown, something inside popped. The weight had shifted again. Its front tilted toward the edge, the left side pulling down first.

I yelled for everyone to back up. The whole thing tipped off the edge and slid forward. Tires scraped once against the concrete. And it dropped. Red lights flickered between the trees as the first cruiser repaired from the main road. Then two more. Ambulance headlights swept the edge of the woods. They finally came.

A blur of boots and flashlights closed in, radios buzzing. Paramedics pulled out stretches, officers fanned out. I watched all of it as if I were stuck in a tunnel. One of them called out my name. Jesus, Dunley, what the hell happened? It was Jameson, someone I knew. He took one look at me, then grabbed my shoulder and started leading me back toward the perimeter.

Come on, sit down. You're bleeding. You're out on your feet. I didn't argue. I followed him to the back of a cruiser where a paramedic opened a kit and started cleaning the cuts across my arm.

Everything stung, but it didn't matter. The paramedic asked something, but I didn't answer. Then another medic approached with a clipboard. We need to know where the first body is, the one you radioed in at the original crash. You said one fatality. I nodded. Where? Jameson touched my arm. You said there was a wrecked car. Yeah, I said. My throat was dry.

In the forest, back on the shoulder near the main trail. It's not too far out. They helped me into the cruiser and drove me down. You passed the bridge. You passed the broken fence and came up to where the Toyota had hit the tree. Two medics got out and moved toward the rear of the vehicle. I stayed behind, leaning on the open door. Then one of them turned back and called to me. There's no one back here. I stood up straighter. What? He motioned again. There's blood, but there's no body. We walked towards a little. We walked towards a little. We walked towards. them, looked through the window myself. The back seat was soaked. You could still see the pattern where the blood had dried, pulled down to the floor mat. The seatbelt was stained red and stiff.

But the body wasn't there. Not a single bone, not a piece of fabric, not a trace. I stepped back, blinking. Jameson stood next to me. Was he dead when you saw him? Yeah, I said. Could he have moved? No. I logged past the car, into the trees behind the clearing. A question rang in my head at that moment. Was it?

Not the only one?