CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My Job Is Feeding Grandma" Creepypasta

Episode Date: October 4, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by beardify: 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►Aaron Sims Creative: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/RY...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-

When I was 12, my father sat me down at the kitchen table and explained to me that his older brother, Lance, had been killed in a terrible accident. Lance had been caring for my grandmother, and now that he was gone, she was our responsibility. We had to move right away. I knew I should have felt sad for my father's loss, but all I could think of was how I was being forced to leave my school and my friends for some miserable old lady I'd never met. it wasn't fair. I didn't speak to my parents for the entire ride to our new home, but they seemed oddly relieved by that.

My father drove in white-knockled silence, my mother clutched the forehead and looked out the window at the gusting leaves and dreary skies of our new Midwestern home. The house where Uncle Lance had lived with Granny was a two-storied 19th century farmhouse

surrounded by a stone fence and wizened old trees. I was reluctantly impressed by the high crown-moulded ceilings, antique furniture, the aristocratic charm of the place. Living here, I thought, would be like living in a museum. I was afraid to touch anything at first, but I soon found myself testing the winged leather armchairs,

rooting through the shelves full of old books with strange titles, and exploring the second floor. I'd forgotten all about the move, my friends, and even the old woman we supposedly come out here to take care of, until I was halted by the first closed door I'd found in the house so far. I swear I heard breathing on the other side. Some instinct made me back up quietly down the hallway and returned to the living room where my parents sat, exhausted on a heap of boxes.

That closed door at the end of the hall, is that grandma's room, I ventured. Honey, my mother replied, going pale. You didn't go in there, did you? No, I was just looking around. As I stood, twisting my foot on the huge oriental rug, my father kneeled down in front of me. It's very, very important that you never go into Grandma's room without permission. No matter what you hear or think you see, that door stays locked.

Understand, he warned. I understand, I muttered. but I don't get why such a big deal. You guys are acting weird. Your father's just tired, honey, my mother's side. Why don't you choose a bedroom and unpack while we get dinner ready, huh? That was how we came to be sitting around an ornate black walnut dinner table beneath the glow of stained glass lamps, eating macaroni and cheese from plastic bowls.

It was almost midnight by the time we were finished. My father yawned as he did the dishes. Then the doorbell rang. Oh God, my mother whispered, is it starting already? Stay here, my father hurried to the door, peering down the hallway. I watched the shadowy figure and my father a black food delivery case, then returned to the van that he left running. Then my father was rushing the case upstairs like it burned him,

a look of disgust on his face. My mother and I listened silently to the creaking footsteps, the jingling of keys and the groan over the door. door opening. My father came back downstairs a few minutes later, looking drained. He left the black case on the porch, washed his hands and face several times in the kitchen sink, and announced he was going to bed. I didn't know it at the time, but that was to be our nightly routine from then on.

It's not that I wasn't curious about the grandmother I'd never met. It was just that I had too many other things in my mind. a new school, new friends, a new town to explore. If the thick wooden door at the end of the hallway had to stay closed, for everyone's safety, as my father said, that was fine by me. It didn't affect my life at all. Or so I thought.

We'd only been in our new home for a few nights when we started to hear scurrying in the walls. Although the house was spotlessly clean and well cared for, it wasn't surprising that the old place was host as some wildlife. It freaked me out at first, that scuffling sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. I'd lay awake, my eyes scanning the patterned wallpaper, wondering if the creatures on the other side were finally about to claw their way through. My father tried traps and poisons, but nothing worked. In time, we simply got used to it.

That's why I wonder if it was the silence that woke me up that night, or the warm weight I felt in my chest. chest. And my eyes popped open and saw three other pair of eyes staring back. I was too scared to move, almost too scared to breathe. I could feel the rat's horrible squirming tails and smell their fetid fur. Even worse, I could understand their squeaks. Why don't you open the door, sweetie? Grandma's waiting. I screamed. The rats scampered off as lights flickered on, and my parents rushed to my room. They seemed relieved it had only been rats. The invaders left after that,

and I soon managed to convince myself that I'd dream the whole thing. As time went on, though, the signs became harder to ignore. If I left a pen on top of my homework while I went to get a drink of water, I'd find, come upstairs, squawed across the page when I got back.

If I looked in the mirror while I brushed my teeth, sometimes my reflection would stop brushing and gesture eagerly toward the door at the end of the hall, a freakishly white smile on its face. Strange smells and sounds came from the room at the end of the hall. If I was hungry, it was baking cookies or roasting meat. If I was thinking about a boy I'd like from school, I'd hear his voice just on the other side of the door.

These messages, or whatever they were, took a toll on my mother and father as well. For the first time, money didn't seem to be a problem for our family, and my mother dove head first into online shopping, DIY projects, and whatever else she had to do in order to forget about our bizarre situation. My father, on the other hand, stayed away from the house for as long as possible. He'd come home just before the midnight delivery, and even then, he usually had booze on his breath.

One night, he didn't even come back at all. Ding dong! My mother and I looked at each other, then back at the door. It was midnight and my father wouldn't have wrong. Ding dong, ding dong! My mother took out a cigarette. Since when had she smoked and gestured toward the door. You better get that.

But, I began, you'll have to learn to take care of her eventually. My mother shooed at me with a cloud of smoke. She'll be your responsibility after we're dead. I gulped and opened the door. The face of the men outside was hidden in shadow. A trench coat covered his body, although it was summer. When he held out the black delivery case, the kitchen light made his grin flash like the blade of a knife.

The moment I took it, he was gone. Just do what your father does. My mother tried not to look at me as she spoke. Take a dinner out the package and leave it by a bedside. Don't look at what's inside. hopefully she'll be asleep. If she's not, don't interact with her. Don't do or say anything at all.

Just leave the tray, close the door and come back downstairs. Got it? With package in hand, I made my way to the door at the end of the hall, then remembered, how was I supposed to open it? The doorknob, like the others in the house, was in the shape of a brass lion's head. I reached out for it and winced,

when I felt something sharp digging to my palm. Had the doorknop bit me? A trickle of blood ran down the brass handle, but I heard the lock release. I took a deep breath and slipped inside. Arthur. A wise and voice and voice called out my father's name. Is that you?

I expected something out of a nursing home. Bedpans, beeping machines, the reek of disinfectant. But this room was identical to. to any other in the house. The same carved-book shelves, ornate rugs, colored glass lamps, and a cozy armchair

where an old woman waited expectantly. This must be Granny. She blinked as if surprised to see me. I forced the smile and opened the delivery case. Inside was a tray

covered by stainless steel lid. Just as my mother had instructed, I took it out without looking inside and placed it on the nightstand beside Granny. Oh, Granny cocked ahead. You must be Arthur's daughter.

It's wonderful to meet you at last. Won't you stay and have a cup of tea? I get so lonely up here, and it would be ever so nice to hear a new voice for a change. My smile became a grimace. But I followed my mother's orders. I backed out of the room with a case in hand and let the door snap shut behind me.

My heart was full of the house. out as I walked downstairs. Why in earth had my parents locked up this sweet old lady. She was the spitting image of the grandmother I'd always imagined, but never known. One with gold rim spectacles and a white bun and a

mischievous smile, who wore blue-chequered dresses and taught me how to garden, knit and bake cookies. I told myself that I must be missing something. Maybe Granny Withershins had a weakened immune system, dementia, or some other condition that meant she had to stay inside.

But even so. As I trudged down the stairs, the front door flew open. My father saw the black case in my hands, and a look of horror crossed his pale and sweaty face. You didn't let her, he bellowed at my mother, who was still smoking and staring at the window into the night. She waved her hand. Honey! My father staggered forward and wrapped me in a bare hug. He smelled like vodka martini.

I'm so sorry, but I have to ask. Did you talk to Grandma? Did you take anything she gave you? No, I muttered. That's good, good. My father whispered to himself. You did great, honey, but you have to remember. You can't trust anything that Grandma says or gives you for everyone's safety.

I understand, but as time went on, I wasn't sure I did. Grandma seemed fine. if anything it was my parents who weren't right in the head my mother ignored me my father was hardly ever around on the nights he came home late i took over bringing granny her meals soon the delivery driver met me with a look of sad recognition and i no longer ever flinched at the drop of blood needed to open the door about granny without explicitly going against my parents' instructions

listening at the door for example when granny ate whatever it was under the metal cover, she did so with gusto. It was like listening to a pack of hyenas ripping apart a carcass. Sometimes she'd sing or play music or call to me in a sad, sing-songy voice. In the end, of course, I cracked. Like I suppose my father did, and my uncle Lance and every member of my family, going back who knows how many generations. It was a rainy, miserable Saturday. My new friends had promised to invite me to hang out that weekend, but not one of them even bothered to call. I spent the day wondering through the empty rooms like a ghost, until a hot rage began to boil in my chest.

Enough was enough. I opened the door to Granny's room. Oh, back so soon, she asked. I'll put the kettle on. Have a seat, sweetie. That she did, using a little hot plate hidden away on a bookshelf. I lowered myself into an armchair, buzzing with questions. Where did Grandma sleep? Where did she go to the bathroom? What did she do all day up here? None of them were exactly polite topics of conversation though,

and I was relieved when Granny set a steaming saucer of tea in front of me and asked me what was wrong. I hesitated. This was my last chance to keep the promise I'd made to my parents by not talking to Granny. But I was fed up with the promises and seen. secrets. Fade up with this boring Midwestern town. My stupid classmates. My whole dumb life.

Bringing on, what was the worst that could happen? Everything, I answered. Everything is wrong. The sky didn't fall. Granny didn't suddenly attack me for speaking. Everything was just as before.

My grandmother observed me over her glasses as she took a deep trout of tea. I did the same. It tasted of her some pure relief. And before I knew it, I was describing how much I'd lost by moving here, my parents' strange behavior, my struggles to fit in at school, and other more private things I'd never told anyone, not even my best friend who was now so far away. The more I drank, the more I talked. Granny has the question to steer the conversation here or there, but mostly

she did something no one had done for me in what felt like years. She just listened. I don't think I stopped until I literally ran out of words and the sun outside Granny's window was going to set. I think I better get going. I got to my feet. Of course. Granny understands. There was such a lovely little chat. I hope you come for another visit soon.

I closed the door as quietly as I could. I was so worried about getting caught that I didn't notice the string that I brought with me when I stood up from Granny's chair. It led me back under the door, and as soon as I crossed the threshold, it detached from my skirt with a mind of its own. Of course, I wouldn't learn that until later. I was still trying to sneak back downstairs when my father's voice boomed out from my own bedroom. Apparently, he'd been looking for me. Just what do you think are doing? My father snarled.

Nothing, I sulked. I know where you've been, honey, and I'm afraid you're not taking this seriously. I know how it looks, but I'm your father. You've got to trust me. Trust you, I snapped. I don't even know you anymore. I regretted the words the moment I said them. But there was no going back now.

My father hung his head. This is for your own good. My father stood up to leave my room. You might hate me now, but at least you'll be around to thank me later. You'll crown it for the rest of the month. Home, school, and that's it. No friends. No games and no more visits with Grandma.

It couldn't have come at a worse time. That same evening, one of my classmates called to invite me to a pool party the next weekend. It was obviously going to be the big event of the year and everyone would be there. Except me. I stalked irritably from room to room, with nothing to alleviate the boredom and anger. Little did I know that Granny's thread was off weaving a story of its own. I woke up that night to find something tugging on my bedsheets. I brushed myself up nervously, weary of the rats.

It was a doll, a dirty-looking one-eyed thing with a recorder inside that I'd forgotten about. The doll looked up at me with a single plastic eye and opened his mouth to play a new recording. You've been ever so kind to me, sweetie. Why don't you come let Grandma out of a room for a bit? Um As I sat up The doll pulled itself onto my bed And waddled toward me

In its empty socket I could see that it was filled with string The end of the cord trailed off Out my door If we go out together Grandma can make your daddy see sense Then he'll let you go to the pool party Wouldn't that be fun

It might have sounded great If it wasn't coming from a warped recording in the mouth of an animated doll. I looked frantically around for something to cut the thread. My eye settled on a pair of scissors on my nightstand. As the doll climbed towards my face, I snag the scissors and cut its cord. The doll fell lifelessly under my bed,

but granny's string wasn't done yet. After recoiling, it slithered back inside the doll, then coiled around the scissors, yanking them out of my hands and lashing them to the dolls. It now held them like a butcher knife. I kicked the doll away, but like a horrible plastic spider, it scrambled back on top of me. This is a blade stopped an inch from my eyeballs as the baby's voice issued an ultimatum. If you let Grandma out, you can keep your eyes.

With the doll latched tightly onto my head, I opened my bedroom door. The hallway had been transformed into a tunnel of thread, like the layer of a funnel web spider. The only open path led directly toward the last door of the hallway. I thought about my mother's distant look. My father's drinking and obsession was staying out to the house. Had my parents been dealing with stuff like this since we moved in, hiding it from me, so I didn't have to endure the horrors that Grandma was weaving around us.

I barely felt the prick of the knob as I stepped inside. Hello, dear, Granny smiled. Can you please get this thing off of me? I begged. I'm afraid not, sweetie. It's there to help you do the right thing. The string that animated the doll I now noticed was wrapped around my granny's finger.

Now, hold the door open for Granny now, won't you? I felt my throat go dry. I stepped back, ready to let Granny through... Stop! My father, in his pyjamas, fought the web of string. Granny stood, and, as she did, I noticed that the doll no longer moved. The string only had power outside Granny's room.

In here, it seemed, The old lady was powerless. I ripped the awful doll from my head and threw it onto the floor where it lay a useless toy. As I sprung back from Granny's room and slammed the door, I heard a monstrous wail from the other side. I knew she was going to work on you, my father panted. But she can only hurt us with what we give her or take from that room. In there, she's powerless. She can mess with our senses and manipulate our desires, but she can't hurt us,

not as long as we take care of her and keep her in that room. Who is she? I asked. What is she? Our cross the bear. Every family has at least one secret. She's ours. Uncle Lance didn't have an accident, did he?

No, my father sighed. He didn't. Arthur, my mother cautioned. She's old. Enough, after this nightmare, a bit more one's hurt. My father led me downstairs and opened a password-protected folder on his computer. The files were recordings from a security camera fixed on the door at the end of the hall that I'd never noticed before. I finally understood how my father knew that I'd visited Granny.

The file my father clicked on was titled, Never Forget.AVI.AVI. Uncle Lance had a stroke. Your aunt June, his wife, tried to take care of feeding. herself. She didn't know that protection against that thing only extends to our bloodline. Anyone else who goes in there. He didn't need to say more. I could see it in the grainy black and white footage on the screen. My Aunt June, tribling a few drops of a husband's blood on the doorknob to activate it, crossing the threshold with a black case in hand,

falling as her feet was swept out from under her, writhing in agony, clawing at the floor as her own inside splatter round her, making the white-eyed, expressions of a living being eaten from the feet up. Her last act was the yanked the door shut, trapping herself inside with Granny. Aunt June had sacrificed herself to keep the thing sealed away for one more day, just long enough to give us time to arrive

and carry out our duty as caretakers. It's been over ten years since that day, when I learned the truth and took over as a caretaker. Since then, my parents have gotten divorced and stress and fear has driven my father to an early grave. Still, I can't complain. I've gotten used to the horrific illusions and unnatural occurrences. Unlike everyone else I know,

I can count on a steady balance in my bank account I won't ever need to work for a living. Still, when I walk through town with this crisp chill in the air, I look at the pretty facade of so many houses and wonder about the secrets they might be keeping. I wonder how many people I cross paths with go through life under pressure, knowing that they have to be home for a delivery at midnight.