CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My childhood friend and I did a ritual. It worked too well" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 1, 2025

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saint ZanderCreepypastas 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"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA 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 serious this time, Cody said, leaning across the cracked picnic table. His breath smelled like sour candy and his eyes looked huge behind his bent up glasses. It's a real ritual, real, real. I didn't just find it on Google or YouTube this time. I had to go through this whole creepy website you can't even find unless you do this thing with your computer. It's called a hidden browser or something. I snorted and picked at the peeling paint on the table. Yeah, just like the real ritual,

where you made me eat a crayon and told me my future would come true if I pooped out the whole thing in one piece? Cody shoved me with his elbow, but it barely counted as a shove. He was skinny, always had been, with elbows so pointy he could probably stab someone if he wanted. That was a joke.

This is different. I did research this time. Real research. How's of it? I leaned back and squinted at him, trying to keep a straight face. Cody doing research usually meant he found some kid on a forum who told him how to summon a ghost with a spoon and a prayer. Thing was, he was my friend, always had been. Ever since kindergarten, when he wore a cape to school for three weeks straight and told everyone he had wizard blood. Cody had this thing about creepy stuff. Monsters, spells, ghost stories, you name it. He collected weird facts the same way normal kids collect baseball cards.

Every week he had a new ritual or a new monster or a new story about a haunted road he read about somewhere on a blog. Since I had stuck with him through all of it, Most kids lumped me into the same weird bucket. We were the spooky kids, the ones who made paper-mache monsters in art class instead of finger-painting flowers. Teachers thought we were harmless,

but other kids mostly kept their distance. I think they figured if they stood too close, they might catch whatever weirdness we had. Cody could be annoying sometimes. He always thought he knew more than everyone else, else. He had this thing where he would keep secrets on purpose, just to drive you crazy enough to beg him for answers. But he was my best friend. So, when he looked at me with that dopey, excited face and said, come on, it'll be awesome, I swear. I sighed and gave him a fist bump

across the table. Fine, I said, but if I end up eating another crowsy, I said, but if I end up eating another crayon, I'm never speaking to you again. Cody grinned so hard I could see the spot where he was to the chip last summer. Deal. And if it does work, this is the last one. Swear on your Pokemon cards. He agreed, and that's when I knew he was serious. We met up after school and got on our way. Cody beat me off the starting line by a mile. His sneakers slam me again. the pedals, his bike rattling across the pottles so bad I thought his front wheel was going to pop off. I pushed harder, standing on my pedals and leaning into the race. But Cody had that manic energy you only get when you think you're about to do something historic. We cut through

the neighborhood fast enough to make old ladies walk in their dogs yell at us. Lawns blurred past, and I could smell fresh-cut grass and someone grilling a hot dog somewhere. Cody whooped when we hit the downhill slope by the abandoned video store, arms outstretched, coasting like he was flying. His house came into view at the end of the block, squat and square,

a saggy basketball hoop clinging onto the garage by a single bolt. The lights were off. They were always off. His mom worked nights. sometimes entire weekends. His dad was never in the picture. Cody never said why, and I never asked. Whatever had happened, it left Cody half wild and half grown up in a way

no one else our age really was. He pretty much raised himself on serial and horror movies. We dumped our bikes in the dirt patch by his porch. The kickstands so useless, it was a miracle they stayed up at all. Cody fumbled with his keys for a second before he got the door open. Then he turned and grinned at me. Prepare to be amazed, he said, puffing his chest out. I followed him inside. The house smelled a little dusty, a little sweet. Probably from the mountain of snack wrappers, Cody never got around to cleaning up. We headed straight for the basement door.

Cody threw it open with a dramatic sweep of his arm, motioning me to go first. I took one step down and froze. The whole basement had been transformed. There were candles arranged in neat little circles around a massive chalk pentagram drawn right into the concrete floor. Bowls of salt sat at every point of the star. We had junk, broke. broken mirrors, little bones, stacks of torn book pages sat all over the place. The air felt heavier, almost sticky, and it smelled like burnt matches and something else.

Cody bounded past me and leaped down the last few steps two at a time. He grabbed a crumpled bag of chips from the armor of a ragged chair and tossed it at my face. "'Armer up, soldier,' he said. You cannot battle ancient evil on an empty stomach. The bag hit me square between the eyes and dropped to the floor. I bent down to pick it up, feeling my heart thump a little harder. This was way beyond anything Cody had ever done before. Again, usually his rituals meant chanting into a bathroom mirror with the lights off

or making me stack a bunch of river rocks in a circle and whisper to them until we got bored. One time, when he really talked it up, he confessed afterward that he had made the whole thing up because he thought it would be funny to tell people we fought a ghost by hitting it with plastic baseball bats. But this... ...looked real. I crinkled the bag chip in my hands and gave him a look. You went full psycho for this one, huh?

Cody just grinned wider, bouncing on the balls of his feet. candles flickering behind him. Only the best for my last ritual ever, he said. Swear it. Cody plopped down cross-legged at the edge of the pentagram and motion for me to do the same. I settled into the spot across from him, cradling the bag of chips he had thrown at me earlier.

Crumbs stuck to my fingers already, and I knew he would yell at me if I touched anything important. So, I wiped my hands and my jeans first. Okay, Cody said, pulling a rumpled piece of notebook paper from his hoodie pocket. The lines were crooked and written in his messy, tilted handwriting. He smoothed it out on the floor, squinting at it in the candlelight. We got to read these lines together. You gotta mean it too, or it won't work.

I stuffed a handful of chips into my mouth and gave him a thumbs up. He cleared his throat and together we started mumbling through the words. It sounded like total nonsense. Some of it was in Latin or at least what Cody thought Latin sounded like. Other parts were weird gibberish phrases, things about opening doors and trading names. I mumbled along, half-hearted. crumbs falling into my lap trying not to crack up when Cody got super intense

and threw his whole chest into the weirder parts every now and then he would stop and scurry around the circle fixing a candle that burned too low or pushing the salt line back into shape with the side of his shoe his forehead was shiny with sweat and his face had that scrunched up serious luck he got whenever he played board games or made spaghetti by himself I was halfway through another handful of chips when it happened.

The pentagram on the floor pulsed. At first, I thought it was my eyes playing tricks on me. Maybe the candles were flickering weird because of the trap from the basement door. But then it pulsed again. A faint red glow crawled along the lines Cody had drawn. I blinked and leaned forward, wiping my hands again, trying to make sure I was not just seeing things. Cody sat back on his heels, mouth hanging open, eyes huge.

I told you, he whispered, bouncing a little where he sat. I told you. The glow deepened, steady and low, and the candles began to tilt. Not flicker. Tilt. Every tiny flame bent inward toward the center. of the pintergram, like little soldiers getting pulled by invisible strings. The air got thicker, it pressed against my skin, against my ears, almost buzzing.

I could smell something new now, sharp and metallic under the burnt match smell. Cody clapped his hands once, beaming. It's happening, finally! Did you use glow in the dark chalk or something? I quizzed. He jumped up, ignoring my question, and started pacing outside the circle, waving the crumpled notebook paper around. Okay, okay, okay, so there's some rules, he said, excitement pouring out of him. But trust me, it's worth it.

I mean, you have to follow the rules, duh, but there's a reward at the end, and it's supposed to be awesome, like life-changing awesome. He darted back to the edge of the circle, crouching low. His voice dropped to a whisper, even though we're alone. And there's a fail-safe. I can end it whenever, so don't freak out, alright. I'm not going to tell you what it is yet, though. I know you. You'll chicken out the second you feel a breeze in your neck or something.

I opened my mouth to argue. But the words froze in my throat. Something was moving behind Cody. I stared, heart hammering so loud I could hear it in my ears. A shape. Black, rising slow out of the glowing center of the pentagram. Arms unfurling like smoke, but heavier. It towered over Cody without making a sound.

Just this huge, awful silhouette where nothing had been a second ago. I tried to yell, tried to say his name. My tongue fumbled around in my mouth, pushing out broken pieces of words that did not make sense. Cody frowned at me, confused, his eyebrows scrunched together. Dude, what do you do? He never finished the sentence. The thing behind him moved fast. There was a sound, sharp and wet.

and Cody's head snapped sideways and tumbled off his shoulders before his body even knew what happened. His body wobbled for a second, knees knocking together, and then it collapsed in a heap beside the pentagram. Blood sprayed across the floor, across the chalk line, across the toes of my shoes. I hit the basement stairs so hard I barely touched the steps. My shoes slipped against the wood and I slammed my shoulder into the wall. It scraped along the old chipped paint but I barely noticed. I kept moving, grabbing for the handrail and yanking myself up faster. The second the basement door came into reach, I threw it open so hard it banged against the wall behind it.

I tore through Cody's living room, knocking over a lamp with a crash that exploded behind me. My chest burned already, but I could not stop. I skidded out the front door and sprinted for my bike, yanking it upright so hard, the kickstand snapped off and skittered across the sidewalk. I threw myself onto the seat, peddling before I had both feet planted, knees wobbling, tires spitting gravel as I took off down the street. My lungs heaved against my ribs. My legs screamed. My teeth were clenched so hard my chest. jaw ached. It's fake. It's fake. He's pranking me. The words pounded against the inside of my

skull with every spin of the pedals. Cody had set it up. He probably hired his older brother or someone from the high school to wear a costume to pull some sick horror movie trick on me. He'll be standing in his driveway tomorrow morning with a video in his hand, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. He would show everyone at school. The streetlights buzzed overhead, casting puddles of orange across the sidewalk as I tore through them. I blew past Mrs. Redfield's prize rose bush and clipped the edge of Mr. Tanner's garbage cuns,

sending them rolling out into the road behind me. I finally skidded into my driveway, tires squealing against the cracked cement. My legs gave out halfway off the bike. and I stumbled to the front door, fingers fumbling with a handle before I managed to shove it open. The sound of my parents arguing hit me before I even stepped inside. It was the same fight they always had. Money, schedules, who forgot to pay the water bill this time? Their voices tangled together into one long messy noise that filled the house and rattled the windows.

I bolted up the stairs. Two at a time. My hand shook so bad I could barely grab the railing. But I made it to my room and slammed the door behind me. I crawled into bed still wearing my shoes. I yanked the blanket over my head and curled up as small as I could get, pulling my knees to my chest. The smell of sweat and dirt clung to my clothes. My heart thudded against my ribs so hard it hurt.

He pranked me. That was all it was. He scared me so bad, I thought it was real. That stupid, stupid glow in the dark pintergram, that fake monster suit, that blood was probably just ketchup or something he bought at the Halloween store. He was going to laugh about this forever.

He was going to tell everyone I was going to be the joke of the whole school. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to slow my breathing. Tomorrow he would text me. Tomorrow he would say, Gotcha, and send me the video, and I would hate him for a week,

and then we would be fine again. Tomorrow, this would all be over. My parents kept arguing over groceries. Just another part of the night I could ignore if I squeeze my eyes shut hard enough. I wanted to wait for them to quit arguing, and then ask about Cody. Maybe they'd go check just in case.

Then, my dad's voice changed. It cracked, pitched higher, a sound I'd never heard him make before. Something slammed downstairs, hard. Something else toppled over right after it. Glass shattered, thick and ugly. My body went stiff under the blanket. I grip the fabric tight enough that my knuckles popped. Another slam, louder this time, something heavy hitting the wall.

Then... Nothing. Silence pressed against my ears until I could hear my own breathing, rough and shallow under the covers. I stayed frozen for a bit. My parents never... thought. I didn't really know what to do.

So I sat, waiting for my mom's voice to come cutting through the quiet, waiting for her to yell at my dad again, for the fight to pick up where it left off. Nothing came. I pulled the blanket off my face, moving slow. I slid off the bed, feet hitting the floorboard so soft they barely made a sound. I crept all the door and pressed my ear against it. Still, nothing. My fingers trembled against the doorknob. The hallway outside stretched, shadows pooling at the edges with a light from my room did not reach.

I took one step out, then another. I leaned over the banister and looked down into the living room. For a second, my brain could not make sense of the room. what I saw. The couch was overturned, cushions split open, stuffing spilling across the floor. The coffee table had been smashed into splinters, pieces of wood sticking up in every direction. Blood soaked into the carpet, a deep, dark stain that spread all the way to the walls. My parents were in the middle of it, twisted and broken. Their faces stared up at the the ceiling with wide, glassy eyes, mouths frozen open like they had been mid-scream. Blood

Pulled under their bodies, seeping into their clothes, their skin already pale. I stumbled back a step, my hand clamping over my mouth before I scream could tear loose. In the far corner of the room, crouched low near the fireplace. Something moved. It was a little. hunched over, folded in on itself, head cocked at an angle that made my stomach turn. Its skin was stretched, almost black against the shadows. Then it lifted its head. Its eyes locked onto mine. I knew, without a doubt, it was the same thing from the basement, the thing that had taken Cody's

head clean off his shoulders without a sound. It had followed me home. Cody had promised he could end it whenever he wanted. He had said there was a failsafe, a way to stop it. But Cody was dead, and I had no idea how to end it. I turned, started running again, slipping once on the wood and smashing my shins so hard I almost fell. I caught myself on the railing and stumbled forward, crashing through the hallway, barreling down the stairs so fast, my shoulder sland against the wall at the bottom.

The creature had moved. I could hear it behind me now, something scraping across the broken floor. I hit the front door full speed, shoulder first, and it popped open so hard it bounced off the outside wall. Cold air slapped against my face. Pain shot up through my legs, but I kept going. Tears blurred against my vision until the trees at the edge of her backyard became one big smear of black. I headed straight for them, gasping so hard my chest felt like it would tear open. The old shack sat half hidden in the woods.

It had been there since before I was born, left over from whoever owned the land before our house was built. It smelled like wet wood and mold and raccoon. Godi and I used to play there when we were younger, before we got too old for secret forts. I dove inside, tripping over the broken threshold, landing hard on my hands and knees. I scrambled toward the darkest corner, curling up behind a pile of rotten beams and torn-up insulation. The air in the shack was colder than outside. It scratched at my throat with every breath. dust stuck to the sweat on my face

I pressed my forehead against my knees trying to fold myself into a ball so small nothing could find me my heart beat against my ribs so hard it made me feel sick every thump louder than the last until it filled my ears and drowned out everything else

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to breathe without me making a sound. I don't know what it is. I don't know what it wants. And I don't even know how to stop it.