CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I've been going to the same Vietnamese restaurant every week for eight years" Creepypasta

Episode Date: June 7, 2021

I've been going to the same Vietnamese restaurant every week for eight years. Last month, something was differentCREEPYPASTA STORY►by mayonnaisedotgov: 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►https://www.flickr.com/photos/klicker...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-

How long have you lived here? It's my least favorite question. The problem is, it's so easy to ask. It seems like a pleasant way to request a bit of personal information, a starting point for categorizing the person you're talking to. But it's so annoying to answer. I have to do the math every time. I graduated from college in 2010, got married a year later,

lived with my grandparents-in-law for two years while we saved up, bought the house after that, At seven years, no, eight. That gets us to today. Yeah, eight years, I think. And if my wife is around, she inevitably corrects me because I rounded up in the wrong place or something. Anyway, that's neither here nor there, just griping.

My point is that for eight years, we'll go with eight for now. I've been going to the same Vietnamese restaurant on First Street, at least once a week. and if it's up to me I'll go back every week as long as I live here In fact Any time we talk about moving That's what gives me a twinge Not the neighbours

Not the woody park across the street Not the balmy weather we get for eight months out of the year It's Café Nour I'll try to explain Ban Me is the world's greatest sandwich Café Nore does it like so Bread, hoistened mayo shredded carrot, shredded radish, glazed pork, cilantro, jalapeno, bread.

If you've had one, you'll understand where I'm coming from. It's saucy, spicy, savory, sweet, everything you'd want in a sandwich. And it is vegetables in it. Like more than a token amount of vegetables, enough to make me feel good about my obsession. They pretty much know me at Cavingall by now. I can mum by my order at sub-hortable levels, and the dude, or one of his daughters, depends on whose work in the counter, knows what to get for me. I leave a tip, even though it's a takeout because, frankly, I think they deserve it.

Every single time I go, I'm glad I did. And if there's anyone in the city who knows that place better than I do, every scratch on the floor, every chip in the paint, every misspelled word in the menu, then they're trying awfully hard to avoid me, because I sure haven't met them. So, that should explain why I can't stop thinking about last month, the last time we went before they reopened their dining room. They were curbside only during the pandemic, like most places around here. Didn't make a look of difference to me.

The food was the same either way. I went to their website a few minutes before 11 in the morning, click the link to the third-party website they used for online orders, added a sandwich to my cart. I think I could do this for my ice clothes, honestly, and checked out. And a few minutes later, I was in my car and headed downtown. My food was usually ready by the time I got there,

but this time I had to wait at the curb for a bit. I had already texted the number on the sign to let them know I was there, and, after a minute or so, I turned off the car. I was looking at stuff on my phone, trying not to stare through the window, or seemed too impatient or anything. Then there was a knock on my window, and I looked up sharply because I hadn't noticed anyone coming out of the restaurant.

But I'm sure I was just too absorbed to my phone. There was a person I'd never seen before. An elderly fellow, a little hunched, white hair curling out from underneath a blue baseball cap. But he was holding a brown paper bag with a receipt staple to it. So I rolled down the window. Must have been a new employee or something. You here for... He drawed off and held at the bag questioningly.

Yep. Here you go. And that was it. I was on my way back home with a ban-mee, exactly like the hundreds of others I'd eaten since moving here. Except it wasn't. I think maybe I should have been listening to my intuition on this one. But on what grounds exactly?

Yeah, I'd never seen that guy before, but it's not like I was going to run a background check on him before letting him give me takeout. And yeah, the receipt struck me as odd. Like, maybe it was a different shape than normal, wider or something. Again, nothing I was going to freak out about. But even when my anxiety meds are working, sometimes all it takes is a few little things to make me feel unsettled.

And that's definitely how I felt. I was ready to forget all of that when I got back to my desk. For the next few minutes, it would be just me, a glorious sandwich, and maybe a couple of work emails. I opened the bag and pulled out the long styrofen box the band may always came in. This was my favourite part.

That first wave of scents. Meaty, herbie, vegetable. The first bite, the perfect blend of flavors. It was always as good as I remembered. Except this time, as I opened the box, I felt a slight wave of nausea as though I stood up too fast or had too much coffee.

And this sounds crazy, but I could swear the box was empty for a split second. I mean, I looked and there was my sandwich, exactly the way I expected it. But I'm almost sure it hadn't been there before, like it had materialized out of thin air after I opened the box. Again, sounds crazy. I'm sure that's not what happened. May things happen all the time and usually have a totally reasonable explanation, and our brains don't work perfectly. So sometimes we see things that aren't there. Trust me, I understand all of this.

I've read books about it. That didn't stop me from feeling weird as hell about the whole thing. I lifted the sandwich out of the box a few times, but just couldn't bring myself to eat it. So I let out a deep sigh, close the box back up and put it in the fridge. Maybe after I'd calmed down a bit, my appetite would come back. That was the first.

and only banned me that's ever stayed the night in my refrigerator. The next morning, I had just convinced myself that it was a normal sandwich, and my brain had been psychinged me out. I bawled it out and was about to dig in when the doorbell rang. It was Pastor Adeline. She'd been trying to get me to join a congregation ever since I'd moved in. I had nothing against church folks myself, but I hadn't been to church in a long time and wasn't really interested in going back.

Plus, I knew I wouldn't agree with a lot of the stuff she preached. But she was friendly to me, and I tried to be friendly back. She had a lot of influence in the neighbourhood, and I wasn't looking for drama. Hey, Addy, I said. Hi there, I've been making visits today. Mind if I come in? Sure, I've got a minute. I stood aside and let her into the front room.

Can I get you a glass of water? That'd be lovely. An old lady like myself has to stay hydrated. you know. I made a show of rolling my eyes. If you want anyone to believe you're old, you'll have to start acting like it. I wasn't kidding either.

She practically bounded into the kitchen after me. I motioned for her to sit down as I fetched the glass and filled it. Thanks, friend. She took a long sip and her eye fell on the bandme cradled in his box, still practically untouched. Oh, my favourite.

You like Caffingior. It's my favorite, too. She squinted. Ah, must have mistaken that for something else. I don't think I've ever been to Caffingor. You ought to go sometime. It's good. I'll keep that in mind.

She took another sip. Can I ask you a personal question? There it was. The awkward portion of today's events. I nodded. When was the last time you prayed? I thought back. Probably not since high school.

You ever thought about trying it again? I made a non-committal noise. Once or twice. At this point, I've probably forgotten how. Why don't you come to church sometime? Let us show you the ropes. I sighed. It's like I've already told you, Addie.

I respect what you're doing, but I don't think I can go to your church. I just sit there the whole time thinking about my parents. I know they wouldn't be welcomed there. She nodded slowly. I understand, just letting you know that our doors always open. We exchange a couple more pleasantries, and then she stood up to leave. She eyed my take-out box once more. That sure looks delicious.

Mind if I take it home? I was sure she was choking. I laughed. She laughed too. Then she grabbed the box and ran. I was absolutely gobsmacked. Her pastor was stealing my food. She would have gotten away with it too, but then I heard a crash from the front room.

I ran in to find Pastor Adeline sprawled on the floor, my take-out box inches from my hand. It genuinely looked as though she had run straight into the door. Are you okay? I asked. After a moment, she nodded. I think so. Then, a look of profound embarrassment crossed the face. I don't know what got into me. Must be that blasted medication the doctor's got me on.

I extended her hand and helped her up. She was a little wobbly. I was surprised she hadn't broken a bone. I am so, so sorry, she said. My doctor's going to get an earful from me later. Don't worry about it, I said, but I don't think I sounded very persuasive. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

I opened the door for her. She looked back at the Ban Me briefly, then tore a gaze away and hurried herself out, muttering something about giving regards to my wife. If something had felt hard about the Ban Me yesterday, it felt doubly so today. At this point, I wasn't sure I'd ever feel like eating it, but it didn't feel right to throw it away.

I put it back in the fridge. My wife and I were drifting off. to sleep that evening when I heard a creek from outside the bedroom. Did you hear that? I mumbled. Yeah, probably nothing. It was a little louder than a normal house-settling creek, but I really wanted it to be nothing, especially on a day like this. Will you go to look? She asked. I sighed and rolled out of bed. She was working ridiculous hours at the hospital lately, so if a quick look around would help asleep, it was for the best. Besides, it wasn't my first time investigating an odd noise, and probably wouldn't be my last.

As was my custom, I grabbed the baseball bat out from under the bed and carefully, silently, open the bedroom door. Someone was standing in my kitchen. Just a silhouette in the dark, but a silhouette I thought I'd recognized, short, with pudgy thighs and perpetually wire stiff hair that pointed in all directions. Jim? The silhouette yelped and whirled around. I turned on the light. It was indeed Jim, my next or neighbor, who I shared a thousand cheerful greetings with,

usually over the noise of a lawnmower, or out the window of a car. Oh, uh, hi there. He was in his underwear and looked a little. all confused. A cupboard was open at his feet. Jim? I began, then paused. How to put this? Are you rooting around in my kitchen at midnight? The answer was obviously yes, but I wasn't sure what else to say. He looked around, clearly unprepared for the situation, and chuckled so nervously, it almost sounded like he was choking. I,

Must have been sleepwalking again, he added. But I wasn't sure I believed he'd done this before. How did you get in? Front door was unlocked. Probably. I mean, I don't remember. Good Lord, was he bad at this? Go home, Jim. This isn't okay.

I'm sorry. He stood there for a moment, quaking, before taking a couple of hesitant steps past me. Then, he thought. I'm so hungry. You wouldn't happen to have a sandwich I could take home. Maybe some leftovers. My heart dropped. If only, this could have been a regular breaking.

Eventually, I could have convinced myself that he was sleepwalking. He would have looked back and laughed. His wife would have brought a plate of cookies as an apology. But no, it had to be about that cursed ban me. Go home, I said again, and motioned toward the front door with my baseball. bat. Please, I'm so hungry. I won't survive. And go to McDonald's. I really don't care. You broke into my house at midnight. You need to get out before I call the police. That seemed to motivate him.

He walked to the door, a little slower than I would have liked, and let himself out. I locked the door behind him. It was several minutes before I heard his footsteps walking away. I didn't sleep a wink after that. The next day was like some kind of hellish nightmare. There were three visitors in the morning, five in the afternoon and evening. All the people I knew, except for one. A door-to-door solar panel salesman. All last, with varying levels of shamelessness, if I'd give them a sandwich.

I knew what they meant. Several made up a pretext to come inside, but I'd drawn the line. Nobody was coming inside today. nobody was coming inside this week by the end of the evening I'd had just about enough I briefly considered putting a no sandwiches sign on the front door

but that would end all pretense of normalcy and I was desperate for things to go back to normal a sign probably wouldn't stop anyone anyway how often did my no soliciting sign work never I opened the take-up box and stare down to the band me I should have thrown it away or burned it.

At this point, I knew better than to eat it, but something kept me from getting rid of it just yet. Something deep inside me, something foreboding, something I was scared to think about. As I looked, I noticed the spot of moulded formed in the bread, purple with a halo of white spores around it. Had it been there before,

and seemed awfully soon for the sandwich to be going mouldy, Then again, I didn't exactly know how fresh the begets were at Café No, and I never waited this long before eating my meal. Maybe this part was normal. Maybe it was just a normal sandwich. Maybe the whole neighbourhood had decided to play a prank on me. I put the sandwich back in the fridge. The sun had set, and I was settling in to watch something mindless on TV, when I heard a shout in the front yard. I sat there, totally drained.

willing myself to go luck, and at the same time willing myself to stay putt. But in the end, curiosity won out. I peaked through the blinds to see a small crowd gathered on the street in front of my house. The crowd grew every minute or so as another neighbour arrived. They were huddled in a circle, several of them talking at once, sometimes making violent gestures in the air. I didn't need to listen very closely to know what they were talking about. I stepped away from the window.

When I came back, fully fed up and annoyed, I had my baseball bat in one hand and the take-out box in the other. I opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. The crowd froze. Looking for this? I lob the box straight up into the air. It seemed to move in slow motion. The crowd's eyes, wide and hungry, followed it up and then back down.

Then I swung, putting all my frustration into a single home run hit. Looking back, I'm surprised it even connected. I hadn't played baseball in years, and I never played in the dark. But there was a soft thud, and the box sailed through the air in a perfect 45-degree arc. I still can't believe what happened next. Coming up to meet it, as though she had sprung from a trampoline, was Pastor Adeline. Addie, who I was certain had never jumped that high in her whole life. Maybe nobody had ever jumped that high.

She caught it perfectly against her chest, a look of utter satisfaction crossing her face before she looked down and realised how far she had to fall. The fall wasn't what killed her, though. By the time she was halfway down, there were fingers scrabbling at her, fists flying at her, people grabbing out her clothes and skin.

She was yanked one way and the other, And then I lost sight of Addy and the take-up box amid the writhing mass of people, all traces of humanity gone, plunging and shoving and climbing desperately toward a single goal. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. A hush seized the crowd. They disintegrated themselves and stepped back, the circle widening slowly, until I could see past them. There was Adeline, faced. down on the ground, blood spilling from gashes and her arms and legs.

The takeout box was nowhere to be seen. A panicked cry rang out, and then someone staggered backward and fell. It was Jim. He scrambled back to his feet and ran. It didn't take long for most of the others to follow. The ambulance arrived late, much too late. I never saw Adelaide again. The police came and questioned everyone, but nobody was willing.

to talk, least of all me. There wasn't one chance in a million they would believe us. The community church closed down a few days later. I still want to go back to Café Noe every week. Is that so terrible? I know I shall be traumatized. Truthfully, I am. But I pick up an order inside now,

and I keep a watchful eye for an elderly gentleman with a blue cap. And every week, as I pull back into my driveway, I nod suddenly toward the spot where Addy died. Folks from the city came by to clean the road a couple of weeks ago. But whenever I walk by, I swear I can still see a patch of red with a blood soaked through. And I wonder, just a little bit. If it's my fault, Addy is dead.