CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I've discovered something, that allows me to hurt people in any way that I want" CreepyPasta

Episode Date: February 23, 2023

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Darkly_Gathers: https://www.reddit.com/user/Darkly_Ga...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...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 16. I really should know better. This isn't me. I shouldn't have wished for a way to hurt others. That was wrong. It was a heat of the moment thing, I promise. And if I'd known my wish might actually have been granted, well, then I wouldn't have made it. I wouldn't, and yet it was. You're a stupid girl, Katie, my sister spat at me. Her eyebrows furrowed with disgust. When are you going to grow up and accept some accountability for your actions? I hate you, I screamed back into her face,

turning and slamming the front door behind me in a burst of rage. Through the darkness, I stormed down the path towards the road, as leaves were blown about my feet, scuttling and swirling in the gloom. I hate her is all I thought over and over again. She went after college. and came back thinking she was some amazing genius. Well, she's not. She's just as awful as she's always been.

I can't believe I actually missed her. Struck by the cold, I became further frustrated by how hastily I left the house. I didn't even grab myself a jacket. When are you going to grow up and accept some accountability for your actions? Ah, I muttered out loud, seething. striding down the roadside, the puddles beneath my feet illuminated in the glow of the street lamps, my frustrations merged with others. My thoughts leapt like electricity onto other similar poisons.

I consider the girls in my form class that like to make fun of me. I thought about the boy I crush on and the conversation I overheard him whispering and laughing about to his friends. I'm pretty sure it's about me. I clenched my fists and looked up to the sky. And there, through a gap in the clouds, I saw it. The shooting star. It was red, and I felt it reflected in my eyes as it silently tore across the void and vanished into nothingness.

I wish I had a way to hurt people, I thought to myself, in a way that they hurt me. I stopped for a second. Just thinking, and for a while I felt a little better, a little calmer. It was just cathartic that wish, nothing more. So, was it a coincidence? I found the bear that night, or was it fate? I don't know. I turned after I saw the star.

With a deep, slow breath of cold late-night air, I began to return home. I chose, for reasons unknown to me, a route I would not normally have taken. And on this route, beneath a flickering light, sat a box with, free to a good home, scrolled in marker across the side.

It caught my eye, and I paused, as the wind sent a chill up the back of my neck. I went over to it, of course. curiosity compelled me. I just wanted to see. And there, in the box, sat propped against the back, was a stuffed bear. A teddy. It wasn't like a classic one.

No, it looked more modern, plushy-styled. A little damp about the head and shoulders with drizzle, but otherwise in good condition. A thick, dark pen. Perhaps the same one that had been used to write the name on the side of the box was tucked into his collar. And from this collar hung a small white rectangle. My name is, it said, in tiny letters above the blank white space. I collect plushes, but I wasn't about to take some gross thing from the side of the road. So I made to leave.

And as I walked away, I began to think how good this little bear would look alongside my others, my other plushies. No, I thought, I'm too old for soft toys now. I don't need it. I stopped. My sister's voice returned to my head. When are you going to grow up? she said. And I felt another bristle of anger flood my veins with warmth.

Screw it, I said out loud, swiveling on the spot. Why shouldn't I take it? It's my damn life. and I reached down into the box and grabbed him up, cradling him in my arms as I strode back down the road towards my house. He was soft and warm, and just a little bit heavier than I was expecting. My sister was waiting for me when I returned. I pushed through the door and shuddered with a welcome wave of heat from inside. What the hell is that? she asked, pointing at the bear.

Where have you been? Are you serious? Storming off into the dark like a little kid when you get mad? I was worried about you. Do you even... I squeezed the bear a little tighter and walked right past her. Screw you, Rachel, I hissed, interrupting and ignoring a further tirade as I pounded my way up the stairs to my room. I slammed shut the door and allowed myself another deep breath, then placed the bear on my bed, carefully looking him over. I reached over and eased the marker pen out from its collar, and as I did so, a little folded note was pulled out too, and it fell and patted against the sheets. The room felt a little colder just then. I looked from the note into the eyes of the bear, and silently, emptily, he looked back into mine.

I swallowed and reached for the note, opening it up. It read, Give me a name to make me real, then choose how best to make me feel. Shivering, I read through it again. It made me uneasy, this note, and I began to doubt whether or not the rescue of the bear had been a good idea. This gross, random bear found in a box at the side of the street. Ah, right, okay. I kept the pen and the notes separate

and decided to toss the toy into the washer to blitz him clean I couldn't get his collar off with the little whiteboard tag so I just left it attached Once he was washed I threw him in the dryer and went to bed Exhausted and weary and still very much frustrated with the world My dreams were warped and uneasy I saw myself right a name onto the bear's tag, though I cannot recall now what it is that I wrote.

We are adrift in a world that didn't exist, the bear and I. Then, and altogether, rather featureless, pass-a-by, stroll past beneath a flickering street lamp, and I completed the name. At once the light turned green, and the passer-by came to a stop. I remember placing my hands on the bare soft leg. I remember squeezing and twisting, and I remember the passerby collapsing to the ground, shaking. I remember turning the toy's leg into a position

that would not physically be possible for a real person. And with a sickening crunch, the leg of the passerby snapped in the exact same manner. They writhed about on the ground, and with no mouth of their own, there was no cry of pain, but I felt as if I could still hear it all the same, echoing around in my head. And I felt good as they writhed.

The light shone greener and brighter and louder. I awoke the next morning with my heart pounding with fear, with a sheen of sweat across my forehead, and with a sickness in the base of my stomach. What the hell was that? I muttered, tearing with a shone of my forehead. off the sheets and rushing to the dryer to grab the bear. I found him as I expected, his fur a little fuzzier than it had been, and I brought him back to my room with me. The sun had only just begun to rise, and a thin sliver of silvery light was cast into my room, heavy with shadows.

I looked at the bear, at the note, at the pen and the little tag. My name is And as I looked the bear over, I was unable to help recalling my anger with my older sister, how a harsh and horrible words had spurred me to leave the house in rage. To walk the street alone at night, that had been dangerous, and she just let me go. She didn't even come after me. I clenched my teeth and fumed, all the rage of the previous night resurging, and I acted as I had in the dream. I gave the bear a name

I gave it my sisters I wrote Rachel on his tag or her tag I guess and then I looked at it I looked at this bear with my sister's name written on the tag and I just sighed and shook my head what am I doing here

I said out loud just let it go this is ridiculous Already the visions and the dreams were beginning to fade. It all seemed so stupid. Maybe she's right. Maybe I do need to... To grow up, to be accountable. I looked at the bear, and images flashed in my head of my sister's face, snarling, smirking, shouting.

Of her belittling me. Of her twisting my words and getting. made me into trouble with my parents, of her rebuffing my attempts at contacting her at the university, because, because she's too busy with her precious new friends to even think of me. And in a sudden burst of fury, I grabbed the bear in my hands. I grab it by the arm, and I twist it back as far as I can. I expected the soft squish of a plushy, conforming comfortably to whatever force is applied upon it, before jumping back to the way it was.

What I was not expecting was a loud, sickening crunch, a snap. The bear's arm did not spring back. I stared at it in horror as fluid began to leak through the stitching. In a panic, I snapped it back to where it was before, my hand shaking, and a scream from the other room echoed loud and clear throughout the house. Oh my god, oh my god. I instantly darted forward and scrubbed my sister's name from the bear's tag. There's no way, there's just no way.

I smashed through my bedroom door and ran to my sister's room, as did my parents. And we found her on the floor beside her bed, tears rolling down her face. Her arms snapped and clearly broken. My eyes flew wide open. I fell to the ground beside her and held her, sobbing. I'm sorry, I whimpered. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it. She choked on her tears and clutched me with a good arm.

It's okay. I'm sorry too. I didn't mean it either. I'm sorry. But she didn't know. She didn't know what I was really apologising for. I never forgot the panic and fear of that morning. But over time,

It began to morph into something else. And so, here we are. Present day, a week later. My sister's arm is still all busted, but the doctors believe she'll make a full recovery. With time, no one knows exactly what happened. No one, except me.

They all think she just fell out of bed and asleep, a freak accident. But I know the truth. I know what happened. I did this to her. And as this last week passed by, my sister and I reconciled, we forgave each other. We have, in fact, never been on better terms. And this new positivity, this success, I guess.

It warped something in my head. I started to feel good about what I did. The guilt evaporated. I began to smile when I thought about snapping her arm. It was for the best, I reasoned. I should have trusted myself. I don't know what kind of dark magic this bear is imbued with, but I'm not weak.

I'm not the type to let it overwhelm me. I can use it. I can use this toy for my own ends. to make everything better, to make a better world. And so, I do. I return to school after Christmas break with a newfound confidence, willing to give the people who have tormented me the benefit of the doubt. I don't think my gate makes a difference, however.

I see my confidence as an obvious target. The popular girls, the one who always picked me out. Freya, Willow, Alice. Didn't get any makeup for Christmas then, Katie? Freya calls to me and they laugh. They all laugh. Don't be a dick, some boy says to her, passing us all by. I don't know his name, but he's one of Robbie's friends.

My enduring crush, Robbie. This only makes the trio laugh harder. I smile humorously at them and head to my class, though Freya's dumb, simple comment plays my head all day. I find myself examining my face in the mirror, freshly insecure. During English, Willow accidentally splashes the water all the way at my back. It's cold and clammy. The teacher believes her when she says she didn't do it on purpose,

and I am left humiliated and fuming. I am called on to answer a question in the, final lesson and I feel myself flush with preemptive embarrassment. I try my best to answer the question as neutrally and as uninteresting as possible to give no one in the room anything to comment on. But my attempts make no difference. When I'm done, I shoot a look over to Alice and Freya in the corner and they huddle together whispering and laughing and glancing at me.

I clench my fist beneath the desk. I ignore the text messages that come through as I head to the bus, the ones telling me to end myself. I'm not an idiot. I would never do it, and I wouldn't allow some text to affect me so deeply. But they don't know that. They don't care.

It's so damn rude, and it's all too much. But I can do something about it now. I allow my bitter and my bitter. to fester and swarm like a dark cloud on the ride home. And the second I'm off that bus, I marched straight back into the house, head up to my room and shut the door uptight, taking the bear from where I hid him in my wardrobe and placing him on the center of my bed. I unclasped the lid of the marker, my mind bent unhurt. I do not allow entry to any other thoughts. I scribble onto the name tag.

My name is Freya. And then, before I change my mind, I punched the bear right in the face, and I laugh. I can't help it, imagining that this thing is actually her. It's therapeutic. I punch it again and again and then again. The airy eye strike grows warmer with each subsequent hit. One of the bear's eyes begins the same.

sparkle red in the reflection of the light. It weeps a little. On some kind of fiery roll, I scrubbed the name away and replace it with willow. I grab the bear by the hand and take it into the bathroom, adrenaline coursing through me as I spin the tap and allow the sink to fill with sharp, cold water. And then, struggling against a rising tide of fear gnawing away at me, I channel instead. the good feelings, the good feelings of revenge, and I dunk the bear beneath the water, holding it there. It feels strange in my hand, like, it seems the throb, almost like a thing with an actual heartbeat

would. It twitches in my hand, and a bubble escapes from the bear's mouth, shimmering its way up to the surface where it pops. I hold it there for a minute, maybe a little long. And then I release it. The bear isn't warm anymore. It's ice cold. And at last I wipe away the name and replace it with Alice.

I'm shaking now. My conscience is screaming at me to stop, but I've committed. Alice was the one sending the messages. I'm sure of it. She's the worst of them, the absolute worst. absolute worst. I hate her. I grab one of Dad's disposable razors and I slice it across the bear's chest, left and right, criss-cross. Into my horror. It bleeds. Not a little, but a lot. Scarlet splashes are splattered across the white of the sink, the bath. It oozes down across the bear's fur,

and I drop the thing in horror. I wipe away the name and lock the bathroom, collapsing down with my hands against my head. Reality sets in. What have I done? I start hyperventilating, the adrenaline morphs into what feels like the beginning of a panic attack. I look down at the blood in my hands. Oh God, oh God. I wash it away as quickly as I can.

I must use at least half of the soap dispelps. fence's content, trembling and spilling it everywhere. I hastily wipe up all the scarlet spray and something other days. The bear seems to have stopped bleeding, so I grab it up and return it to my room, face pale. I stuff him in the wardrobe and force shut down on my phone before I can give myself a chance to read any potential incoming texts. I spend the rest of the evening on the verge of panic. I've gone too far.

What the hell was that? That wasn't me. That's not me. Why did I do that? Why did I do all that horrible stuff? Night falls. I dreamed that I'm back in that unfamiliar world. The streetlight flickers.

And above it, half shrouded in the darkness. Is the bear, colossal this time, gigantic? In his paws are a series of strings, and beneath him he dances the bodies of Freya, Willow and Alice. I watch in horror as their eyes flicker over to me. As they dance, their bones cracking as the strings are pulled. A low-grown echoes through the darkness, and the bear lifts his gaze to mine. I awake, cold and breathless. It was a dream, right? Was it all a dream?

I am shaking as I board the bus to school. I see the other kids murmuring to themselves, whispering, showing pictures to each other on their phones. No one looks at me though. No one. Brea is not at school. The rumour mill suggests that she got herself into a fight and got beat up pretty badly. Someone said her entire eye on one side had seal closed. though no one could say who the fight was with. Alice is also absent from school. I looked for a feverish glances down the corridors over to her empty desk,

but she never showed. This time the rumor said that she cut herself pretty badly. Apparently she sent a picture to one of her friends in fright, and that picture is now circulating. I didn't particularly want to see her. I feel sick. I feel like I'm going to throw up at any point. I went too far. I did it again. Did I really think this would make things better? Willow is the only one of the trio at school today. I gather the courage to head over to her. She shakes as she looks at me. She's pale. Her breathing

is shallow and her eyes bloodshot. We stare at each other for a long, long moment. Hey, I start, unsure what to say. I've never cold approached her like this before. She says nothing. I just heard some rumors. Are Freya and Alice okay? I don't know, she replies quietly, rubbing her hand against her throat.

Please, leave me alone. She reaches for her water, hesitates, and then decides against it. She rubs her throat again. She clears it, forces herself to cough. She looks back up at me. Please, just go. And so I do. Pondering. She didn't even try to make fun of me. Did it work? Doubt and guilt all swirl around together. I just don't know anymore. I just don't know. Another week goes by. Freya at last returns to school. She has a lot of swelling around her face.

It's bright with a bruise. Alice never comes back, however. She's spoken about only in whispers now. Apparently her parents freaked out about something and had to transfer schools immediately. The same sequence of feelings as the ones following the incident with my sister play out in me. The guilt gives way to cold triumph. Freya and Willow never bother me again. They don't seem to bother anyone, actually.

And Alice will be fine, so you'll just go and be the popular girl in whatever school she ends up at next, I'm sure. I spend a great deal of time these days just watching Robbie, the boy alike. He actually smiled at me the other day. I like to watch him as we all go to cat. the buses. He actually collects his little sister and they head home together. It's very sweet

the way he looks out for her. He's good with kids. I was gushing to my big sister about him one day and she laughed and told me to go ahead and ask him out already. And I thought to myself, hey, maybe I will. Maybe I can. So I find myself watching him as the day progresses, trying to work up the courage and confidence. It's a Friday, so I have to ask him out today, or I'll be forced to wait until Monday. I don't know if I'll be able to do that. I might just burst. Freya and Willow are sitting at the desk beside me, watching me as I watch him, though they aren't laughing now. They aren't whispering or making jokes. They're just silent. I glance over to them a few times awkwardly, until at last I feel my fuse begin to grow short and I swivel on the

spot to meet their eyes. For a moment they say nothing. They don't even react. Then eventually, Willow says in a low, quiet voice, you're wasting your time, you don't need him in your life. Where once I might have averted my eyes and looked away. I instead doubled down and replied Excuse me Freya nods somberly He's a nasty piece of work, you know You shouldn't fawn over him like all those other girls I flush

What would you guys know You're just trying to screw with me again, aren't you? I feel the anger rising I shoot a quick look to the front of the class And see that the teacher is occupied elsewhere I lean close to them and hiss You guys should be ashamed you're the worst having the audacity to talk to me about nasty pieces of work after the text you guys sent

There's a flicker of genuine surprise that passes between them and the mood changes a little I feel my heart start to pound Katie We never sent you any texts Willow shakes ahead in agreement We didn't I swear that would be too far I falter. I had not been expecting this.

Well, I stutter. Alice then, she was always the worst of you guys. Honestly, Katie, she wouldn't do that. It wasn't her. Prayer says, and I exit myself from the conversation at once, returning my attention to the work on the desk before me, doodling idly in the margin. Are they being serious?

If it wasn't Alice then, Who was it? I mind races all day. I never get around to asking Robbie out. I get back to the house and the first thing I do is hastily sit myself in front of the computer and load up the texts from my phone. Remembering an old trick I learned ages ago, I typed the phone number into Facebook and press search.

Irritably, I shake and jump my leg, tapping the mouse with my finger as the web page loads. One result. My whole body goes suddenly cold as the profile pops up for me. It's Robbie. No, he wouldn't. Would he? Send me such awful things?

The corner of my mouth twitches, and I throw myself up and out of the seat. I slam the mouse against the desk, and I find myself striding to the wardrobe. I'm on autopilot, not even thinking about my actions. I just know that the bear makes things better. I get my revenge and things get better. The anger burns as I grab the bear and the accompanying pen. I scraw rob his name on the tag. Red hot with rage, I haul open my window.

I throw the bear from my window and watch it fall. Its eyes glinting in the light of the setting sun before it strikes the pavement with a splat. A shot of what looks like blood is sent bursting out from a seam by its neck. It does not bounce and simply lays there on the ground, staring up at the sky. My temperament cools. Slowly, quietly, I close the window and sit on my bed. I take a deep breath and then another.

I shut my bedroom door and I turn off the light, and I start to cry. The weekend goes by in a grim haze. On Monday, we are all gathered into the assembly hall and I'll share the news. That Robbie is dead. My body goes rigid. The words play over in my head. They allow us to go home early that day, and I take them up on their offer. I throw up quite a few times, shivering violently.

What have I done? What have I done? Apparently, they found his body near. his house. They say he must have jumped off the roof. Not that anyone saw him do it, of course. I feel another sickening lurch in my stomach, and I wince and whimper. I'm a monster, I'm a monster. Terror crashes around my head like waves, and the day bleeds into night. My dreams are dark, and I awaken, shaking, in the middle of the night. My room is dark. My door was left, characteristically open, and someone must have forgotten to switch off one of the landing lights. A dim orange glow spills across my carpet and illuminates the silhouette of the bear, standing silently

in the doorway. My heart stops. I stare at it, unable to make out his face, or the name upon its tag, as they are both shrouded in darkness. It stands there. impossibly waiting. I'm sorry, I force out in a whisper. I'm so sorry, please.

I didn't mean to kill anyone, I swear. I'll never use you again. I promise, I promise. And without a word, the bear begins the turn, and it quietly pads away out of sight towards the landing stairs. I jump out of bed and slam the door shut, locking it tight behind me. and I stay huddled beneath the sheets until the sun rises in the morning.

The weeks after Robbie's death were hard, really hard. The guilt makes it difficult to cope some days. I'm going to need professional help, I know it, but I don't even know what I'd say. I spend less time alone in my room now, though. I like to go for walks. It helps clear up my thoughts. On one such walk, on a cool but sunny afternoon, I happened across a garage sale, taking place on a neighbour's front lawn. Anything for a quid, darling? He grunts at me, and I peer inside.

There's a whole bunch of junk in here, a larvae lamp, some old DVDs, and a bear, I hesitate. A bear not dissimilar to the last I found at the roadside. Though this one is pink and a little rounder. Cautiously, I reach into the box to hold it, to feel it between my hands. It's soft, as one would expect. I give it a squeeze. Yes, it's packed full of stuffing, squishy. I realize I've been holding my breath and release it.

I turn her over and around. There's no pen, no sinister name. tag. I know exactly what to do with this. I reach into my pocket for the money. Yeah, I say to the guy, I'll take her. I take the long walk to Robby's residence, thinking long and hard about what I'm going to say when I get there. In the end, all my preparation goes out the window. I see when I arrive at last, Robbie's little sister sat on the curb with a chin in her hands, staring into space. I feel tears spring into my eyes, and I try to blink them away as I approach.

She looks up at me, and we hold each other's gaze for a long, long time. In the end, all I can manage is, I'm sorry. And she nods and smiles. I hold out the bear to her. I thought of you when I saw this. You can have it if you like, or you don't have to, no pressure. But Robby's sister smiles and reaches up for it, taking the bear into her embrace. She coddles with it a little and sighs.

Thank you, she says. She's lovely. She smiles. I think I'll call her...