CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My brother and I found a structure buried beneath our home" Creepypasta

Episode Date: October 6, 2020

How deep does this go. CREEPYPASTA STORY►by WeirdBryceGuy: 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- Gerasimos Kolokas: ►https://www.artstation.com/artwork/28...►http://www.gerasimoskolokas.com/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-

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you need to have on Amazon.com. My brother and I were in the basement of our home, wrestling in the dim light therein, when we found the entrance. I was 17 at the time, my brother 14, although you would have thought the opposite ages by our looks. Dale was tall, broad-chested, with shoulder-length black hair that he never bothered to groom beyond keeping it from his eyes. He had achieved a physique and stature, a man years beyond his age, which is why I had no qualms about roughplay. neither did our dad although our mom constantly reminding me

to go easy on him as if Dale would ever permit me to restrain myself during our combat we never watched professional wrestling and didn't abide by its regulations or trends we'd simply grapple slam or toss each other around theatrically rough housing

giving ourselves made up titles that often changed each round the basement was the only space in the house empty and wide enough for our competitions it was furnished though the carpeting was old, and you were likely to get a nasty rug burn as you would have been to have a hard landing if it were concrete.

Both of us sustained several bruises, scrapes and burns, but we look back on these fondly, proudly as the days went by. Reminders of fun times. The discovery of that damnable portal happened one night when my brother, who, I thought to be beaten, suddenly sprang up and charged at me. I had stood over him as he knelt on the ground, breathless after a prolonged session of grappling, during which I'd had the upper hand.

We'd been fighting for nearly 15 minutes without rest, and, if there's one thing I always had over Dale, it was stamina. He became exhausted fairly quickly, so when he came at me, I wasn't at all prepared. His shoulders collided hard with my midsection, sending me back, him forward, along with me, into the wall. The walls of the basement were concrete. And, in the split second before impact, I tried to steal myself against the back bruising collision. But the combined weight and momentum of our well-fed bodies struck the wall with considerable force, causing it to collapse inwards. We fell onto crumbling stone, although Dale was spared much from harm, having my body as a cushion. I, on the other hand, not only had several rocks studding my back, but Dale's weight pinning me onto them.

The wind had been knocked out of me, but I could still move and managed to shove Dale off of me with enough ease that told me I had not broken my back. Dale muttered out a curse, though not in an expression of pain. Even before I had fully risen to my feet, I sensed the weirdness of the space into which we had fallen. Dale's surprise charge had propelled us into some sort of stony antechamber. It was a small space that curved downward, and, at the end of a rocky corridor, a greater space below opened up.

The ceiling of the immediate room was half wood, half stone, a cross-network of beams eventually terminated into bare rock, and an array of bulbs, long dead, dangled haphazardly from the wood, as if strung up in haste. The floor was rough stone, black and slick and uneven. The corridor beyond, though clearly hewn into the earth, was similarly bereft of human embellishment. Whoever had carved this place and the passage into the rock had done so hurriedly without any care of incorporating lasting architecture into the deeper areas. Our parents were away at the time, visiting friends and some adults' vacation.

It was a weekend and Dale and I rarely did much outside of the house. We were both homeschooled. My mom had frequently gone an impassionate rant about the educational inadequacy of public schooling. So we hadn't had any sort of social, professional or educational obligations. No reason not to immediately explore this strange, subterranean passage. Dale went ahead first, life fumbled behind, trying not to move too quickly in case something was actually wrong with my back. We descended the downward curving passage, which lasted for about 20 feet, until we arrived

at the threshold of the greater area beyond. While I thought we would enter into some cavernous expanse, somehow unknown, to the family and perhaps forgotten by the world at large, we instead had ventured into what was apparently someone else's basement. Even in my pain, I had been excited at the prospect of an underground adventure, however short-lived. The basement was similar to ours, furnished to the barest conditions, with boxes, stands, shelves, and other ordinary mundane objects placed normally about. In a moment of acute observation, rare for him, Dale said,

How is this even possible? With my mood soured by the lack of more fantastical environment, I was about to make some derisive comment about his surprise at someone having an equally trapped basement. But, as I forgot the lingering pain in my back, I came to the same realization that Dale had come to. Judging by the declivity of the preceding passage, the basement of this other house would have to be able to.

to be well below ours. The house's roof would at best be level with our first floor. The houses were not only alike in design and structure but in placement as well. Our street was completely level with no house having any prominence above another. This house would have to be buried below and behind ours, somehow deeper in our backyard. It was both a fascinating and unsettling revelation. Our neighbourhood was not exactly no having been built at least a decade before the births of Dale and I, but neither was it incredibly old, certainly not old enough for some ancient structure to exist

so closely to the foundations of the house built there. Somehow a house had been built, one that was fairly modern, judging by the layout of the basement, and buried, accidentally or intentionally. It was virtually impossible. Unlike our own basement, there was no light that came in through a small window

which ordinarily looked out onto the lawn. Instead, lights similar to those of the passage, were placed in a single line on the ceiling, leading from the passage's threshold to a flight of stairs. The lights were like those you'd find in mines or a network of excavated caves. Dale and I went further into the room, examining the objects throughout it.

We recognised brands, designs, and labels that existed within our own home. organized in an eerily similar manner. It didn't take us long to realise that this basement had almost the exact same setup and furnishing of her own. Dale swore again, and I found myself repeating the vulgarity in agreement. Aside from the lights affixed the ceiling,

the rock-acluded window, and a heavy coating of dust upon everything, we recognised our basement. Having looked around the room enough and being rendered considerably disquieted at what we found, I suggested that we go home. Fear had crept into my heart. Of that, I have no problem admitting.

But I also felt a sudden, never before experienced sense of responsibility. We were clearly in a place that was meant to be forgotten, if it were not outright dangerous. Despite his larger frame, I was still Dale's older brother and had a duty to protect him from harm if possible. While nothing harmful had yet resented itself, I nonetheless felt the basement and whatever lay upstairs

was a perilous environment the very air was uncanny its taste and scent familiar but distorted aged Dale disagreed with my desire to leave the spirit of adventure which I'd felt only moments before still persisted

in him the unearthly reality of our situation and not yet deterred his courage even though I felt plainly unnerved and sensed that the levels of above might hold some baleful sight or presence. I couldn't say no to my brother. His excitement was not only infectious but challenging. His grin was doubly and unspoken dare. Against my better judgment, I agreed. The pain in my back had stopped. I could stand upright well

enough. I shoved Dale aside and began ascending the steps. I heard Dale groaned behind me and I at first thought that he had stepped on a nail. I had narrowly missed one myself as I went up, and, in my focus, the sidestep any others, I'd forgotten to warn him of the first. But when I looked back, Dale hadn't reached the nail. He'd only taken a single step, and the nail had been in the middle of the third.

He looked pained and held himself with both arms, as if a chill had swept over him. I asked him what was wrong, and he shook himself, Then continued on, dismissing subsequent questions with a hand wave. Worried, I kept my eyes on him as I continued up, keeping my balance with the rickety wooden handrail bolted to the concrete walls. With each step, Dale grew visibly enfeebled and early collapsed forward.

I caught him before he slid or tumbled down and sat with him in my arms near the top of the stairs. He shivered and his skin was unusually cold. I hadn't felt any sort of heat. in the basement, but it wasn't nearly cold enough to affect Dale in such a way. I again asked what was wrong, what had happened, but he just shook his head and muttered out. I don't know. I wanted to return home. The atmosphere of the bizarrely sunken house was obviously in some way immacable to Dale. I put my arm around his waist and hoisted him up and started to make my way down, but Dale stopped me before we could go all the way out.

He insisted, with strangely willful eyes, that we continue up. He said that some odd impulse drew him upstairs. His health had markedly improved in the few steps down we had taken, which I cited as reason enough for returning home. Clearly, the building was toxic to his health, and who knew what further, possibly irreparable harm would come to him once he'd reached the top. He didn't bother arguing against my logic.

He just insisted we continue. His eyes were alight of the resolve that I hadn't ever seen in them before. Locking into them, I saw the intent, the readiness to do what he would not say. If we returned, he would use his oddly renewed strength to overpower me and return alone. He would be able to. I already knew that. And his fiery gaze beat out my own. Up we went, with Dale in my arms, his strength weakening with each step.

By the time we reached the first floor He'd all but lost consciousness His body sagged down Unsupported his legs His eyes barely open It had taken all my strength Just to get him up there So when we finally touched the tired floor of the kitchen

I laid him down as gently as I could Beneath a great draping of dust And an atmosphere which spoke of time's prolonged passage I recognised Our kitchen not just the outline or near same model, but our exact kitchen, complete with the cutlery and cooking materials placed throughout the one in our home. Dale noticed these as well, although his expression didn't change from its visage of deep discomfort. I walked around and affected by whatever odd forces Harrod Dale and examined the ashen emulation of our kitchen.

It was surreal and fear-inducing. It was as if our home had been lost in time, wholly entombed, and we had stumbled upon it in the bowels of the earth. But that couldn't be, because Dale and I had just been there perhaps ten minutes ago. I swore to myself that this place, this duplicate, couldn't have been our home. Come on, we have to go. Dale had started to crawl across the floor, his destination, apparently being the living room. I ran to him and helped him up, but the situation was the same as it had been on the stairs. He was virtually powerless and relied entirely on my body to stay upright.

As we stumbled towards the living room, I asked him what he expected to find. He didn't answer me, but the light in his eyes seemed for a moment to flare, as if he held some foreknowledge of the events to come. His expression terrified me. The contrast between his debilitated body And his eyes full of fiery life We passed into the living room And saw all the furniture that I knew would be there

A couch, black leather in our house Sat before I cracked mockery of our TV The couch in this other place was torn The leather split at various spots To reveal the yellow cushioning beneath The plants which sat before the windowed wall Were all dead and shrivelled Having not received nourishing sunlight

The windows through which the rays would have been allowed had been shattered long ago. The rough face of a rock wall was the only thing seen through them now. The place was not just ruined. It had succumbed to the stresses of decay that only an enormous amount of time could have wrought. Dale looked upon all this with a knowing sadness. His expression intimated a dreadful prescience, and I again questioned him about what he knew. I can't go upstairs with you.

You must go alone. But know this, Callum. I love you. I've always loved you. You've been a great big bro. Please, go let me rest here for a while. He closed his eyes, and by his expression, one of both solomity and deep relaxation, I knew I would not convince him of returning below or ascending with me.

I realized that it would be foolish to bring him with me anyway. The weakening effect corresponded to his elevation within the house. in his present state he couldn't even stand. I didn't want to risk some worse fate by bringing him upstairs. I picked him up and laid him on the couch, dusting it off beforehand as best I could. He seemed to immediately fall asleep, and I stood by for a moment to ensure he did not slip into some lower state. Once satisfied that he would be all right, I headed for the stairs. as I ascended the steps to the second floor,

a powerful feeling of dread overcame me. It was a dark knowing, a foreboding, unlike anything I had ever felt. The air felt heavier, older, as if suffused with the corpse-born emanations of a tomb or the earthly breath of some hypergeal demon. The walls were grey and fortified by ash. The carpet was thick, inundated with the dust of unknown bygone cycles.

It was dismal and horrible. I reached the top of the stairs and came upon something I can only now impartially recollect. The sight of it, the abysmal image a few feet away was far too much for my adolescent mind to fully fathom. I hadn't the cognitive capacity to fully accept and process the scene. There, lying abreast in the middle of the floor, was my family. My mother's body was barely recognisable beneath the armour of ash, her shrivelled, half-mummified figure laid furthest away from the stairs

near a rock-choked window. The chest table which sat beneath a window in my other house was nothing more than a pile of splintered wood in this one. The decorations and furniture which had occupied the room were now piled around the bodies, encircling them as if an inanimate reference.

My father's corpse lay beside my mother's, its decay just as advanced. The third and final body sat beside his. I went to it, tears in my eyes, expecting to find my brother's rotted face beneath a heavy coating of dust. Gently, I wiped the greyness away and recoiled back in fright. The face beneath wasn't my brothers. It was mine. I knelt there in utter shock, my heart rate skyrocketing,

and it wasn't until I looked upon the rest of the body that my heart calmed, and I was able to examine it first. The frame and clothing were clearly mine, though belonged to a much younger version of myself. I recognised the shirt and pants as things I had grown out of years ago. As I looked over my mother and father, I noticed that they too looked much younger in their builds than they did elsewhere. These people were clearly from the past, decayed, as with the passage of many years, yes, but they hadn't aged, hadn't lived, past. the time that was nearly a decade ago. Terror blossomed anew, and I suddenly became hyper-aware of my surroundings.

Something was not right. The situation was vaguely, but inarguably dire. Having seen the corpses, I felt that I had inadvertently set into motion some awful, sinister process. In an eerie confirmation of my fears, the sound elicited from above. Turning my gaze to the ceiling, I looked incredulously about. upon a yawning void. There was no rocky surface,

no hanging stalactites. It was a preternaturally and darkened, abysmal expanse, devoid of any celestial objects or visible roof of any kind. The enormity of the space was dizzying. Despite having solid ground beneath my feet,

I felt as if I could fall head first into the stygium abysm at any moment. I shrank down, falling to my face and clinging to the ash-stuffed carpet. My fears of being pulled into the void was certainly not assuaged when all three corpses simultaneously fell into that tenebrious sky plunging into that black oblivion. The horror of it is inexpressible.

They fell from sight, quite possibly from existence, into that noiseless, objectless void. I didn't feel as if I were being pulled into it by some inversion of gravity, but still the threat to sink therein seemed real. My hands dug deep into the carpet, as I crawled away towards the stairs. I even went down them on my hands and knees, risking a broken neck. Behind me, I still felt the presence of the void, as if it was an evil and blinking eye

that pursued me with its sight. I managed to reach the first floor, and, with the proper ceiling beneath me, I rose to stand. After dusting myself off, I returned to the living room. Dale was still there on the couch, but his eyes were now open,

and he stared upwards. I followed his gaze and reeled away in terror as I beheld a smaller but ever widening hole in the ceiling. Right before my eyes, the ash-plated ceiling quickly gave way

to the terrible black moor I'd seen upstairs. Truly, it was the same abyss. The living room sat beneath the room in which I'd found the corpses. The house was suddenly beset with a rapid, all-consuming deterioration the structure collapsing and eroding beneath the blackened, odious sky.

I can't hold it back anymore. I'm sorry, Callum. There's only so much I can do, so much I can imagine. It's so exhausting. Tears felt unimpeded from his eyes, and he started to sniffle after his ominous statement. My brother, who started this dark adventure, as if he was some intrepid explorer,

had been reduced to a state more befitting. his age, that of a fearful teenager. He turned to me, blinking through tears which had occluded his vision, and gave me the most woeful expression. I knelt before him and pleaded with him to tell me what was going on, but he only smiled and put a limp hand on my shoulder. Staring into my eyes, with twin conflagrations in his, he spoke one evocative word. Remember

I suddenly saw through eyes that were not mine I saw the kitchen As pristine as I remembered it in the other house But younger somehow Existing within an earlier period of time I, the body I suddenly inhabited was much younger as well I at first thought that I was witnessing some memory

Perceived with preternatural vividness But sounds from upstairs shattered that possibility mingled with the laughter of my parents was my own voice the three of us enjoying some humorous moment together despite the bizarre circumstances and the desire to investigate this existential inconsistency

I felt a more powerful compulsion draw my attention away from the voices upstairs a predestined impetus towards some other action as if led by a deeper world than my own I found myself approaching the stove it was above the microwave

On some deep, barely perceived level, I understood that my body was hungry. I sensed within myself a desire for autonomy, a budding need to demonstrate self-sufficiency, the person whose body I inhabited wanted to prepare their own food. Against my control, and eventually to my terror, the child whose eyes I saw through began hazardly preparing a meal. Things unfit for heating in the microwave were placed obviously therein. food was thrown about without caution into pots and heated dangerously fast in the stove. Even as the stench of burnt food reached my nostrils, I saw a spine-chilling flash in the microwave.

Seconds later, the burnt food in the pots below was set to flame. In only a few minutes, the kitchen was ablaze, the volatile circumstances combining into a mounting inferno. I found myself running from the kitchen, my small legs carrying me with surprising swiftness towards the back door. I heard a name called out and the sounds of several pairs of feet hastily descending the stairs. I fled into the backyard, terrified and ashamed. I didn't look back at the house, now flaming so much that the heat singed my back. I finally escaped the heat, sitting with my face buried into my knees beside my father's equipment shed. I heard the house's destruction by the blaze as audibly as if I had stood within it.

The flame assaulted structure creaking and groaning, as if it were a living thing. The last sound I heard before I was ejected from that body was a name. In a scream of some unfathomable emotion, I heard Dale's name

sum out the noises of the conflagration. I was suddenly thrust back into the normal reality, the one which my brother laid on the couch, his strength sapped by some imperceptible trauma. His eyes were closed, and for the moment,

I feared that he had died through my psychological transportation. But then he smiled. Sadly, as if knowing I had returned from the bewitchment. Years ago, wanting to feel older than I was, I tried to cook my own food. We'd all been watching some comedy movie. I had fallen asleep on the couch, this same one,

and I guess you guys decided to let me sleep and watch the TV upstairs. I was awoken by your laughter, I think, and realized that I was pretty hungry. Well, I messed up, started a fire in the kitchen and ran out. I hid in the backyard, terrified and embarrassed. I heard mom call out my name,

but didn't even turn to look at the house. He cried freely, turning the ash beneath him into a sloppy grey sludge that dripped thickly from the couch's cushion. You guys never made it out. The firemen did their best, but the blaze was too strong, Most of the house had been swallowed up by the fire before they'd even arrived.

I sat on the floor beside the couch, and my brother turned back to look at the ever-expanding nonity above us. I stared in my hands as if seeing them for the first time. For some reason, they seemed thinner, as if my physical substantiality had been somehow reduced. Then, how... I couldn't bring myself to finish the question, fearing that by asking it, I'd cease to exist. The following morning, when it was all over,

and the police had reiterated what happened, something in me broke. Even as a kid, I felt the gravity of what I'd done, the guilt, the sorrow, the anger at myself. It was all so powerful. For days, I was essentially catatonic. I didn't answer anyone. I didn't move or speak or eat.

I didn't think. my psyche was all but shattered. And then, just before I slipped into an even darker state of mind, just before the thoughts of self-termination seeped in, even as a child, I heard a voice. With the same limp hand he had placed on my shoulder, Dale pointed up to the darkness above me. I followed his point, but saw nothing beyond that immeasurable, nightmarish void.

He called himself the black horologist. He said that he had sensed my grief. Through the far-flung reaches of space in which you resided, he said that he could provide me with the power to bring you all back, to conjure the family up from memory. He asked for nothing in return. He said that his power, while so distant from Earth, was incomplete. If I brought you back, it would not be forever,

but longer than the years I'd already lived. Being a kid, that sounded like quite the deal. He told me all of this in a dream But when I woke up I could still hear his voice Whispering to me through space I was too young I think To even consider the possibility

That I had gone crazy He instructed me on how to bring you back He told me that all I had to do Was remember you guys as much as I could And then imagine that you were all standing in front of me At the time I'd been in the care of our uncle Who had become my de facto guardian He was in his study, reading or working,

when I decided to try and conjure you guys. I didn't want to tell him beforehand, didn't want to get his hopes up in case I failed. I did my absolute best, recalling everything that my brain had thought worthy of storing. When I opened my eyes, there you were. You were all standing next to each other, motionless,

as if asleep on your feet. I was ecstatic, I ran to my uncle's study. and told him what had happened. I thought he'd be happy, but instead he looked extremely worried, frightened even. It hadn't occurred to me

that since I hadn't spoken in days, this sudden outbursts might have seemed odd. Dale's arm fell, and he closed his eyes. I thought he had fallen asleep, or perhaps worse. But after a few moments of terrifying silence, he continued. He came in, cautiously at first,

probably thinking I'd drawn some images, of you on the walls of the guest room. When he saw you standing there, blissfully asleep, he froze in place. He didn't look at me, just stood there, wide-eyed, in complete disbelief.

Meanwhile, I hopped up and down like some stupid little clown. Hours, after the house had burned down, he'd identified what he could of the child remains. There was no question about your deaths in his mind, before that moment. Eventually, the shock were out. an uncle brought you to my bed

and laid you down as gently as a newborn. He then gently shook our parents who awoke as if coming out of a rest or sleep. Dad scanned the room, then stared at me as if he had learned some terrible secret. He didn't say anything for a while. Mom cried and paced around,

mumbling incoherently. I wasn't sure if she was happy or sad. But I couldn't think of a reason why she'd be sad. Our uncle tried to calm our mom. and Dad eventually came to his senses and went over to you. He kept brushing back your hair, even when it wasn't in your eyes. I thought that was silly, since you weren't even awake,

and didn't need to see anything at the moment. You woke up a few hours later, though, and Mom and Dad practically wrestled to get to your side first. I thought they would bring up how you would come back. They hadn't asked me, but I assumed they already knew, being adults. I would have proudly explained the generosity of the black horologist to you, finally knowing something that you didn't know. But they just said good morning and asked how you were feeling,

and if you were hungry, and all these other questions that had not once referenced what had happened to you all. I was giddy and wanted to tell you this story of what happened, but a look from Dad made me stand still and kept my mouth shut. Clearly they hadn't planned on telling you about your death, at least not then. It was clear that you had no memory of it. The days went by,

and then the weeks and months and now years and they never told you. We stayed with our uncle for a while, an extended family visit being the reason, if you remember. They quickly had the house rebuilt and redecorated exactly as it had been. They made

her uncle swear to secrecy and conducted other adult business with the town that made their deaths appear as a misrepresentation of facts. They wanted things to be as they were, as you would know them. Dale once again, and began spasming far worse than he had before. The couch shook with his chaotic movements,

and I grabbed a hold of him so he wouldn't fall off. I'm sorry, I can't hold on any longer. The truth is, mom and dad aren't on vacation. What the black horologist hadn't mentioned was that I would be the continuous source of energy behind your lives, like psychic energy, I guess. The strain worsened over the years,

though I had managed to hide his effects pretty well. but Mom and Dad saw me bend over in pain one morning and made me explain what was wrong. They talked for a while and insisted that I let them go so that you could live just a little bit longer. I tried to argue with them. I really did, but they insisted. For a moment, his trembling stopped,

if only so that he could gush fresh tears. I swear they went peacefully. They sort of just... They just sort of faded away. and while I know this won't be much comfort their memories ended me when it happened they were as real as anything else and their love for you was just as pure

just as valid as it had been before the fire please believe me none of you were fake not to me not to each other but I'm sorry brother I can't hold on to you anymore this place is some sort of manifestation of my memory as everything breaks down

and returns to my mind but it's not just going away it's coming to me you'll be part of me just how mom and dad are now your memory will live on and through me through my hands you can tell your story

that way you won't just be real to me you'll be real out there too I felt the tears my eyes swell but something kept them from falling I wanted to sob to vocally let out the tempest of emotions in my heart but the psychological process behind such an action felt restrained, impeded.

I wanted to embrace Dale, but I felt suddenly enfeebled, as if years had been added to my life or taken away. My final thoughts before fading away, as Dale had put it, were of my parents, waiting to receive me, among the vaults of Dale's memories. My name is Dale, and this is the story of my older brother, Callum, these are his words, his observations, his thoughts, put the text through my hands. He lives on in me, as do our parents. I know they're strangers to you, but I beg you, please, don't forget them.