CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Mr. Moore wanted to stay alive, and it came with a cost" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 3, 2020

Any means necessary...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by ObeyToffles: 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►Ivan Sevic: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/NOO25SUGGESTED 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-

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caretaker had a care home for a few years. I don't expect anybody to believe my story, but this was what led me to quit my job. Mr. Charles Moore, or at least, that was his name when I met him, was an old man. He never told me his age, but I figured he was about 90 years old when I met him.

By he, I meant his mortal shell. As for how old Mr. Moore truly was, if not for his old man's body and his raspy voice, You wouldn't think he was a man of his age. He had a sense of humour and often bantered with and played jokes on the caretakers. He didn't seem to mind the dreary atmosphere of the care home at all. I wish I never met him. One day in the cafeteria after dinner time,

I figure it was my second year working at the place. Mr Moore beckoned me to join him at his table. He was sitting alone, almost other old folks were playing cards, watching TV, and doing what old folks do. I don't think we've ever gotten to know each other, Mr. Moore said, extending his hand. I'm Charles Moore, and you can call me Charles.

What's your name, son? David, I replied, and shook his hand. Nice to meet you, Charles. Are you a military man, David? Charles asked. Yes, I replied, Royal Marines. How can you tell? I had served in the Marines.

for a short stint some years before, and served for a while in Syria. When you observe people for as many years as I've lived, David, you can easily notice patterns, Charles said. I was a marine man myself. When I watched you, I recognized the way you walk, and the way you talk. That's impressive, Charles, I said, how long did you serve? If you are referring to my service in the Royal Marines, I've served 34 years. I've served 34 years. He replied. I began my service at age 18 and was discharged honourably in 73. So you served during the World War and the Falcons War?

My interest was piqued. The things you must have seen. Yep, Charles replied. I was among the troops who landed on Normandy in 44. I was a paratrooper to be more specific. That's amazing, Charles, I replied. I wasn't trying to be polite. I was impressed.

It is, isn't it? Charles responded. And yet, I'm here in a care home. Ha, the greatest generation. All dead are in care homes now. Funny, isn't it? He laughed. I didn't know how to respond to his bitter humour.

A moment of silence passed, and Charles took a sip from his mug of tea. Suddenly he turned and looked me straight in the eye. He said, His gaze, unfaltering, I have to tell you something about me. Can I trust you? Of course, Charles, I said.

I felt surprised, but decided to listen. What do you want to tell me? David, Charles said. What if I told you that Charles isn't my real name? What is the old bloke up to, I thought? Then I realised he wasn't joking. Well, I wouldn't tell anyone if you didn't want me to. Your information is safe with me.

All right, Charles said, and excel deeply. My name was Fritz Weber a long time ago and Piotr Viliqe before that. Anything before that, I don't remember anymore. Piotr Vilike was born in 1890 in Petrograd, Russia, which later became Leningrad, and today, St. Petersburg. to a family of poor peasants. Like most peasants, they despise the heavy taxes and conscription imposed on them by the aristocracy. In 1914, Piotr and his family were conscripted to the Russian army. Piotr killed many Germans in the war, but his father died in the war to a German sharpshooter.

Piotr hated the Russian Tsar, but hated him even more after his father's death. In 1917, he joined the Bolsheviks in overthrowing the monarchy. and was hailed a hero by his village. He believed very strongly in the communist movement, and he was the party representative at his village. He had a wife and children, and lived a happy life tilling the communal farms. He longed that one day,

he and his children would live in the communist utopia described by Marx. Piotr loved his children, but he loved his country more. In 1941, the Germans began their infamous campaign. Operation Barbarossa Piotr had to pick up his rifle again to defend his home and his family. He was sent down south to Stalingrad, where he, like a million other Soviets, fought a vicious battle to repel the fascists.

He fought in the trenches and he fought on the streets. The battle killed a million Soviets and Piotr was among them. When fighting at close quarters in the Red October Steel Factory, he felt a German bayonet plunged into his ribcage he felt a flood of regret that he would have to leave this life behind alas he had no choice

he had became Fritz Weber Fritz was a very hot-headed man he wasn't old enough to have fought in the first World War but he was more than enthusiastic for the second he was a devout supporter of the National Socialists and up to that point

was a real scumbag of a human being I admit freely that I felt no regret in what I did to Fritz, only in the fact that I had to leave my life in Russia behind. Leningrad never fell to the fascists, and Piotr could never see his wife and children again. At this point, I was confused, but not alarmed. I suspected dementia was responsible for the strange story. It's easy for old people to mix up stories that seen on TV were read in a book with their own experiences.

After that ordeal, I spent a few years in Germany. Charles continued. For it, having been wounded in battle, was sent to be a guard at Auschwitz-Burkenau. David, I want you to know that I am not a monster. When I saw the things that happened in that place, I was horrified. I did what it could to help the starving men, women and children. I tried to sneak them food from the barracks and helped some of them escape.

But there were too many of them. I'm sorry for what you had to go through, Charles, I said. That's all right, Charles said. For the last 70 years, I haven't told anyone about this. I just need to let it all out before I go. I'm not a young man anymore, David. I can sense that my time is almost up. That's all right, Charles, I said, patting his shoulder.

I thought it was confused, but decided to tolerate it. That's some heavy stuff there. Let it out. Anyway, two years after that, Fritz was sent to the Western Front to Normandy. On June 6th, the Allies landed, and Fritz was sent to the front lines to defend a bridge. A British paratrooper of the 6th Airborne Division landed 30 metres away from him and promptly shot him in the jaw with a rifle. Charles gestured at himself. That, he continued, was me, Charles Moore.

You've never told anyone about your time in the war? I asked, incredulous. No, Charles replied. My family knows, briefly. Why would I tell them anything more? My own son put me here to rot. They're probably looking forward to the time I bite the dust so they can inherit my fortune.

I'm sorry to hear that, Charles, I said. That's all right, he said. It's not like it's your fault. Besides, they aren't getting anything. They didn't earn any of that money. I did. How would you like to inherit three million euros? I was stunned.

I can't accept that, Mr. Moore. I stuttered. Give it to someone who needs it. Give it to a charity. I don't deserve that money. He tried to persuade me, but I was adamant in my refusal. My co-worker, Andrew,

approached me during a break period for caretakers. Andrew's face was glowing and his eyes twinkled with excitement. David, he said, with a huge grin on his face. You remember something I told you, a long time ago, about old folks writing me into their wills? Andrew was an opportunistic bugger. He told me once why he decided to join the medical industry and work in the care home. The old folks here are angry and cynical. Who wouldn't be if they were abandoned by their ungrateful children and stuffed in a care home?

all it takes is a bit of compassion and a show of kindness and the next thing you know they've written their kids out to their wills and left you everything this happens Dave and it happens more than you think Kaching yes I replied I suppose Charles Moore decided to leave you something three million euros

he yelled and he's getting his will updated tomorrow I knew something like this would happen I told you so good for you Andrew I said and offered a polite smile. I'm happy for you. You bloody well should be, Andrew said.

Once that will is updated and I make sure the geys it doesn't change his mind before he bites the dust, I am out of here. Andrew was a dick. But did he deserve what happened to him? Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. The lawyers determined Mr Moore to be of sound mind, and the will was smoothly rewritten.

One month after a conversation, I was at night patrol duty. Basically, caretakers have to take shifts checking on the elderly while they sleep to make sure they take their medicine and to help them into their beds. While I was walking down the hall, I noticed that Mr. Moore's door was ajar. I took a glance into his room and saw Andrew sitting next to Charles Moore, who was fast asleep in his bed. Andrew seemed to be deliberating and his face was scrunched up in thought. as if he was having an eternal struggle.

Suddenly, he stood up, he extended his right hand and grabbed a pillow from Charles' bed. I was alarmed. What was he up to? And then I realised Andrew was impatient. I was alarmed and took three strides towards the door.

Suddenly, Charles bolted up. His speed was uncanny, and it wasn't a dimly. demeanour of an old man. Andrew was shocked. He dropped the pillow and smiled haplessly when Charles turned to stare at him. The corner of Charles's lip crawled up his face to form a blood-curdling grin. His teeth were showing, and I saw how many small and sharp teeth there were.

They reminded me at that absurd moment of the teeth of a great white shark. Charles. No, that wasn't his name, for he had no name. opened his mouth as Andrew backed up against the wall of the room in sheer terror. A giant, black, eel-like tongue protruded from the yawning jaws of the thing that sat in Charles Moore's bed. It slithered and curved towards Andrew, now helpless and totally frozen. At that moment, Andrew turned away from the thing and saw me looking through the gap. His expression was a mixture of confusion and of unholy horror.

He opened his mouth to scream But he never did The tongue shoved itself into his mouth And into his head His body went limp And his eyes rotated into his skull I remember staring at Andrew's convulsing body Unable to move

I was numb with terror But also filled with a morbid curiosity A few minutes later The Black Tongue of the Thing began to recede slowly, back into Charles's body. Once it left Andrew, he stopped convulsing. A minute later, Andrew started to stir. Suddenly, his eyes opened.

To my horror, his bloodshot eyes stared, unflinchingly right into mine. David, Andrew said. I did what I had to to survive. I hope you understand. I felt hot and thick bile, shooting into my mouth. I clapped my hand over my mouth, turned and bolted from the door.

Mr. Charles Moore was pronounced dead the next day. According to the doctor, he had died of natural causes. There was no suspicion of foul play. Andrew White inherited the three million euros. Despite a fierce court battle, Charles's children failed to undo his last will and testament. I will never forget what I saw that night in the that room and no amount of therapy will ever make it easier to sleep at night. But when I think back, I can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the thing that was Charles.