CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I've worked the same job for 18 years and I still don't know what it is" Creepypasta

Episode Date: June 21, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by zachariusfrost: 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►Chen Chen: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/v2...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-

My job is easy, almost ridiculously so. For 10 hours a night, four days a week, I supervise a conveyor belt and perform remedial functions on a computer. In August, it'll be 19 years that I've been working here, and I still don't know what I actually do. I mean, I know what I do every night for work, but I don't know why I do it, or what purpose it ultimately serves. I can't describe exactly what I do. because the non-disclosures I've signed forbid it. But trust me, when I say you could literally train a monkey to do it if you really wanted to.

The pay is ridiculously lucrative, especially considering the ease of the work. When I first started working here, I thought for sure it was too good to be true and convinced it was a scam or a pyramid scheme of some kind. My checks are signed by an institution which has no trace on Google, or any business registries I've looked through.

I've never met my boss. If I have one, nor any of my co-workers, aside from my driver, Dave. I don't even know the name of the business or my position. People ask me what I do for work, and nowadays I just tell them I work for the government and can't go into details

because it's easier than explaining the reality. But I'm not even sure if that's accurate. Before every shift, I'm picked up from home by a box van with no logos or placard. I've known the driver for years now, and he seems like a decent guy. I know him as Dave, but I don't think that's his real name. Once inside the van, I put on this custom helmet designed to prevent me from seeing anything. From there, Dave drives me to the job site, about 30 minutes away.

He and I conversed nonchalantly most of the time, usually about sports, politics, or our lives in general, but never about the jobs who work. When we arrive, Dave instructs me to remove the helmet, and I find myself inside a dismal garage with a simple metal door in front of the vehicle. From there, I bid farewell to Dave and head inside to begin my shift. Beyond the door is a simple grey hallway with tired floors. Dozens of doors line the corridor, and the faint sounds of humming machinery fill my ears as I travel to my designated office on the third floor.

There are no elevators, so I take the stairs. Once I arrive at my door, I use my badge in the reader to unlock it and enter. My office consists of little more than a small room and a few computer terminals in front of a large window. There's a personal bathroom on the left, along with a landline phone behind a class case for emergencies. On the other side of the window is a larger chamber. containing a conveyor belt and a scan station. The conveyor has a single entrance and branches to four possible exits. Every few hours an alarm will sound and the conveyor belt will begin to move.

This signifies the arrival of our product and the only real action I see throughout my shift. A minute or two later and a large, nondescript steel box will roll in from beyond the room. I've never gone the exact dimensions of it, but it's a perfect square, and got to be at least four feet on every side. Once it reaches the scan station, it stops, and my task begins. From there, I use my computer to begin prepping the box for analysis. All I really have to do is use the robotic arms to ensure the testing equipment is hooked up properly. The computer does everything else, analyzing the odd steel box for whatever its parameters are set to, and spitting out the conclusion it reaches.

As mentioned, there are four possible exits from there that the box will be sent on, depending on the results of the test. Path A is the most common, with about 7 out of 10 boxes being designated for it. Path B is less common, housing maybe 2 out of the 10, and path C is rather rare, accounting for 1 out of 10 or possibly less. In my almost 19 years of employment, I have never seen Path D be used even once. This process takes maybe 10 minutes from start to finish and generally repeats three to six times a night until my shift is over. Some nights I get no boxes at all, but those days are rather rare.

As far as my employee duties go, that's about it. Aside from keeping my workplace clean, which is rather simple, considering I'm the only one that ever goes in there as far as I know. 99% of the time, I sit around in my station, just killing time. It can be hard to stay awake sometimes, but I feel my downtime with various entertainment like podcasts, music, and even an occasional movie. Wi-Fi and cell reception is nonexistent in the room, which sucks. but I'm almost positive it is intentional. I know I'm not the only one who does this job, but I've never seen videos of it online

or seen anyone talk about it. The contract assigned makes it clear that exposing trade secrets is grounds for immediate termination. This is why I've been intentionally vague about the process and I've left out several crucial components of it. It's no doubt still a bad idea to post this, but I feel like I need to be. too. I'm behind a proxy, so hopefully that's enough to mask my identity. But even if it's not,

it's a risk I'll just have to take. As mentioned, the job pays very well, better than anything else I know of that requires such little training and effort. The boxes that roll in on the conveyor belt are clearly not solid steel. If they were, they'd probably weigh a few tons, and I doubt the conveyor belt array would be strong enough to hold, let alone move them. Obviously they are hollow, which means there is something inside them. For the longest time,

I thought the boxes contained radioactive waste such as depleted uranium. It would explain the inaccessibility of the testing chamber, as well as potentially the testing process itself. However, I'm not required to wear any special protective attire, and from what I know of radioactivity, being in as close proximity as I am to it, it would require special PPE. So, you may be wondering, if the pay is so good and the job is so easy, then why would you compromise it by posting this?

It's a good question, and one that I've contemplated for years now. After nearly two decades of uncertainty for both myself and people I know, I guess the curiosity has finally gotten the better of me. That, and also, because something really unsettling happened recently, and I just feel like I need some answers. You may recall that I mentioned earlier how Pathway D has never been used once in all the time I've worked here. But that's not entirely true.

Last week, I was in the middle of an otherwise normal shift. The alarm sounded as usual, and one of the boxes rolled in a moment later. I perked up at my desk as it approached the scan station and noticed something odd. I've seen thousands of these boxes come and go at this point in my life and for all I know, they're recycled and reused. This one appeared different than all the others.

The outer shell was scuffed and would look like scorch marks were engraved on the outside. It looked like someone had taken a torch to it and randomly blackened the surface from heat. I got my equipment set up, and a minute or two later commenced the scan, which takes about three minutes to complete. All the while, this inexplicable sense of dread overcame me. I don't know how to explain it really, but this overwhelming sense of impending doom just sunk its teeth into the fibre of my being. Usually, the scanning process is routine, automatic, and I hardly even pay attention to it nowadays.

as I've repeated it so many times over the years. That time, I paid close attention, though, and I'm glad I did. I watched the readings on the scan climb, far beyond the normal threshold for an A or B. My eyes then sprung wide, as it zoomed right past the sea territory as well. It just kept going into readings I had never seen,

and frankly, didn't even think was possible. It quadrupled the readings that would have deemed it a C before the scan had even reached the 50% mark. Things got really weird then. The screen began to fizzle at random intervals. The random blurbs of static appearing on screen for a single moment than vanishing. The screen partially distorted as well, like someone was running a powerful magnet over it.

The lights in the room flickered a few times, and I thought the power was going to cut out before the scan concluded. My eyes then caught sight of the item being scanned. And my jaw nearly hit the floor. It was trembling, like a cell phone on vibrate, getting an incoming call. But much more intense. It seemed to distort as well, growing larger and more malformed before slumping back down and nearly imploding on itself like a long, rhythmically expanding in and out.

To my surprise, the power held firm and the scan finally. concluded. I looked back to the screen to see an impossibly high reading staring back at me. It was probably larger than every reading I've ever seen combined, and I didn't know what exactly to make of it. You're not real. A sudden whisper spoke into my ear as clear as day and sounded like it was spoken by a young boy. I nearly fell out of my chair and spun back expecting to see someone behind me. But there was nothing. I was completely alone in the room. Now, on the verge of absolute panic, I decided to just return to the computer and finish my task. I just hoped that once the damn thing was gone, things would go back to normal and I could

forget all about it. The D button had a protective cover over it as to avoid inadvertently hitting it. Like I said, I'd never pressed that button before. But the results of the scan made it irrefutable that this was a D result, whatever that even means. I operated the robotic armages to remove the scanning equipment, feeling my hand tremble on the joystick. Once they were all clear, I flipped the cover up and hit the D button without hesitation. The conveyor belt then hummed to life, and I watched the metal box, which had since regained its initial form, slowly rolled towards the exit. I had almost allowed myself to breathe a sigh of relief. When the conveyor belt suddenly stopped,

the lights flickered again, and the power cut entirely. Darkness swallowed me, and I reached into my pocket to try to grab my phone. My hands were shaking like leaves in the wind, and of course the phone slipped from my hand, landing on the linoleum floor with a clack and skittering a few feet away. I dropped to the ground to try and find it as my eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness On hands and knees I crawled around

But a noise caused me to suddenly freeze And dropped my blood to Arctic levels I suddenly wasn't alone in the room Breaths fell laboured from an ill-defined source Raspy and harsh Like a smoker of many years He'd just done running a marathon I was almost gasping for breath.

It was close, but in the darkness, I couldn't see it. Goosephonse sprouted along my skin, and every fear receptacle in my body seemed to begin sounding a red alert. I felt a pressure building in my chest, and my mind began racing in the darkness, but my limbs refused to react. That tense stomach continued for an uncomfortable amount of time, but in all likelihood, It was probably less than a minute. The lights then inexplicably flickered back on,

and the computer screens blitzed back to life. With stinging eyes, accosted by sudden light, I somehow managed to snatch my phone and scramble into the corner of the room. I was bending so hard and shaking so bad that it physically hurt. I expected to see someone, or something behind me, from where I heard the breathing. But, once again, There was nothing there. The computers finished rebooting

and once again returned to the operating screen. I could only think of getting that damn metal box as far away from me as possible. So once again, I moved to the terminal and resumed the conveyor belt before even looking into the testing chamber. When I finally did look, I felt the true tendrils of terror

constrict around my brain. The box was mutilated. torn up like something that was once inside it had violently ripped its way out. That seemed to prove my theory, that they were hollow all the long. But of course, it didn't offer any comfort, because that also meant that whatever was once contained had now gotten out. I peered around the chamber frantically but saw nothing.

The emergency phone on the wall seemed to beckon to me, and I realized if ever there was a time to use it, It was then. I picked it up and put the receiver to my ear. The phone had no numbers on it to dial and began to ring automatically. A second later, I heard a voice on the other end. Is it out? The voice of a woman asked, cutting straight to the point.

What? Is what out? The box, what is its status? I looked back to it, seeing it once again destroyed. It's mangled. I don't know what happened. The power went out and then... Did you hear it?

My blood ran cold as she asked that. How would she have known there will be anything to hear? What did it say? She rephrased the question. And I can only think to respond to her. You're not real. She fell silent for a few moments on the other end. And my heart froze my chest from anticipation.

Remain calm, resistance is on the way. The line then abruptly cut off. With the trembling hand, I set the phone back down and timidly glanced towards the window. My vision had suddenly gone blurry, but on the window, I managed to see the smudged outline of a handprint upon the glass. I must have passed out or fainted from fear after that, because next thing I know, I was waking up in a bright white room. The beeps and clicks of medical equipment filled my ears as my eyes slowly adjusted to the harsh lighting. My head was throbbing and my body felt weak, but that may have been from some medication they had administered. No one came into the room for nearly half an hour, and I was left alone in my delirium to try and piece together what had happened and where I even was.

Finally, the door opened and in steps of brunette-haired one. woman in black slacks and a blazer. Her dark brown eyes shifted behind thick-rimmed glasses and cherry red lipstick covered her unwavering expression. Her heels clicked on the floor as she approached, cradling a manila envelope underneath her arm. Mr. Johnson, how are you feeling? I shrugged and admitted I had a headache,

but felt all right otherwise. I asked her what the hell had happened. But she seemed to avoid the question as she pulled up a chair. She opened a folder up and cleared her throat. Your last scan indicated the product was a D variant. Is that correct? I nodded, affirming that based on the present parameters my analysis was indeed correct. She seemed quite intrigued by that. Did you see anything odd?

I shook my head, clarifying that the power had cut off not long after. I thought about telling her about the handprint on the glass, but for some reason decided not to. She asked me more questions about what had happened, what I'd heard, if I was physically hurt, and my general state of mind. I answered her questions as best and honestly as I could. I then asked her again what had happened, but once more she avoided the question. After a thoroughly unsatisfactory interview, she rose and took a leave. She had never even bothered to tell me who exactly she was, or even what her name was. I assumed she was higher up in the company, and the pamphlet she left behind seemed to confirm that.

It was an unaddressed list of instructions of how I was to proceed. It basically told me to go home and rest for a week. It assured me that I was not facing any disciplinary action for the event, and would even be compensated my normal wage during the time off. The instruction suggested I avoid laborious physical exertion, sleep plentifully and remain calm. By far, the strangest instruction was to avoid mirrors and even see my reflection as much as possible.

I still don't know what to make of that, but I've done my best to adhere to it. The instruction said nothing in regards to secrecy or keeping my mouth shut, and I honestly don't know what to make of that either. I guess maybe they just think no one will believe my account anyway. The letter, of course, had no signature at the bottom and no way of indicating what entity, business or person had written it.

The final line was quite curious, however. Rather than saying thank you for the hard work, it said something along the lines of, Thank you for your contribution. Maybe it was just another way of phrasing the same sentiment. It made me wonder a few things. It's been a few days since this all happened. And, as per the instructions, I've been at home, resting and researching like a madman.

I still can't find any trace of my job online, and admittedly, I'm still not exactly sure what I do for a living. I do think I've learned a few things, though. Like I said in the beginning, I've never known what the exact purpose my job serves, or why it is so well compensated. It has to be important for all the secrecy and monetary investment on the part of my employer. The work is a cakewalk, but obviously, as I've learned now, there is a danger to it.

I still fully believe you could train a monkey to do it if you really wanted to, or better yet, fully automate the process altogether. Most of my job involves using robotic arms anyway, and while it would probably be a bit of expensive, you could probably engineer a way to operate the entire process from a remote location and eliminate the personal risk altogether. I think that's exactly why they don't want that, though. That last line of instructions has been ringing endlessly through my mind, and I think I know what it means now. The woman that interviewed me in the hospital seemed oddly unconcerned with the state of the product and focused most of the questions and how I myself felt. Maybe someone reason that that's just a responsible employer doing their part, but I think

is for a very different reason. I think a focus was never on the iron boxes as a business investment, because the real investment was seated right in front of her and was much more valuable. I think I am their investment and their investment. and their primary objective was always studying me and how the job would affect my psyche and overall health. I'm their guinea pig and for nearly 19 years I've supplied them with data.

This revelation, if true, leaves me in an uncomfortable situation. My first thought was of course to resign, but I don't even know if I can do that. There was just so much uncertainty around all of this. Maybe I'm just being paranoid Or maybe I've read too many conspiracy theories But I wouldn't rule out them offering me If they felt they need to

If this is some CIA Enterprise Or top secret government experiment Then no doubt they would spare no expense in silence in me That probably doesn't bode well for me Even posting this to begin with But we're beyond that point now And I'm in danger regardless of what decision I make I plan to go back to work, if only to satiate my unquenchable curiosity.

If I'm being honest, I've also gotten quite used to the paychecks, and leaving immediately will put my family in a difficult position. I try my best to adhere to the instructions and avoid mirrors. It still seems strange, but I've caught fleeting glimpses of my reflection a few times, and I don't like what I see. I keep seeing and hearing things that my wife claims are not there. Night is particularly bad, and the dreams have been quite disturbing. I'm seeing a psychologist now, and he has expressed his fears that I might be schizophrenic.

I have no familial history of the disease, and before all this, I have never showed any symptoms. But now, I can't deny the possibility. Hopefully, it's just the lingering effects of trauma, but I'm starting to doubt that is the case. case, I'll in this post with something that may or may not be related. Now would be a good time to put on your tinfall hats, because this is quite far down the rabbit hole. As with any nefarious antics, this conspiracy leads right back to the grandfathers of all douchebaggery. The Nazis. Back in 1945, just before the Allies liberated Europe from Germany's stranglehold, something downright evil was going to be.

going on in Dachau, the concentration camp in Bavaria. Whenever camps are mentioned, the first one most people think of is Auschwitz for its infamous reputation, but Dachau was the Nazi's crown jewel. It was the first one ever established and held in high regard by the Third Reich throughout the entirety of their reign of terror. Rumors have circulated ever since about what horrors truly went on there, but since it was the German homeland itself, it was one of last camps to be liberated. By the time the Allied forces reached it, the damage was done, and most of the data was already destroyed or removed. Of course, what they found there is known all too well by history, at least in terms of the utter depravity and the countless lives

lost and destroyed. But there was something more. A secret project, whose mere existence is still debated by historians and conspiracy theories the like. As far as I can tell, there is no official name for it, but most call it the Nightmare Project, or some variation of that. Now, if you know anything about them, you'll know they were masters of psychological torment and warfare. They also dedicated a significant portion of their resources

to expeditions searching up religious artefacts and locations, but possibly more important for our purposes, researching the occult. There are numerous examples of this out there, but the one in Dachau seemed primarily focused on the development of something known as a nightmare bomb.

What exactly this thing was or how it worked is not known, but the name itself seems to offer a few clues. It was rumoured to be a weapon that could obliterate human psyche and inflict a wide array of mental illnesses upon its targets. Whether it was supernatural or scientific remains to be seen, if it even exists at all.

But it apparently targeted the brain directly via sonic waves of some sort. People say it could turn an otherwise healthy person into a depressed, anxious and schizophrenic mess. For anyone listening to this, who currently struggles with these conditions, you have my deeper sympathies. I've personally seen how difficult a diagnosis like this can be, and I'm sure you're. will agree that a weapon capable of inflicting this goes far beyond what is deemed cruel and inhumane, even in terms of warfare. Evidence of all this is very hard to come by, and most of it is regarded as conspiracy. Honestly, I have no real reason to assume this is even related, but it just seems so familiar. Operation paper clips saw Natu rocket scientists exonerate their crimes in World

War II and assimilated into NASA. So who's to say they were the only ones given that option? Considering the facility I work in, the procedures and the secrecy surrounding it all, it's clear that whatever it is I do is lucrative or informative in some way. As we all know, the military industrial complex takes up the vast majority of the United States tax revenue and weapon development is a constant top priority. Maybe I'm reading too much into all of this, but since my impression employer has not offered any explanations. All I can do is speculate. If anyone has any theories

about all of this, please feel free to share. Honestly, I like nothing more than to just forget all of this and get back to my life. But I've had a lot of nightmares recently. I'm scared, and although I feel all right physically, I can't help but feel that whatever happened to me, It's not going away anytime soon.