CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My neighbor murdered my dad. After searching his house, I don't blame him" Creepypasta

Starting point is 00:00:01 Three years ago, my neighbour had what can best be described as a mental breakdown. One morning, he stepped onto his front lawn, looked around the street for a few moments, and then went and sat in his driveway, shirtless. I'd watched them do this because I'd just gone out to go to school. When I returned later that day, seven hours later, he was still there, sitting exactly as he had before when I left. Most of our neighbours had gone to work, seeing this, man as they drove past, but none had thought to call the police.

Starting point is 00:00:36 He technically wasn't doing anything wrong, so he remained undisturbed for several hours, though undoubtedly watched by anyone who hadn't gone to work or school. I wasn't very familiar with him, passing greetings being the most contact between us in the years we lived next door to each other. My parents were similarly unfamiliar with the man, though none of us could have said that we disliked him or felt uncomfortable around him. He was just a stranger who occupied the same street as us. For the sake of privacy and respect of the dead, I won't share his name.

Starting point is 00:01:13 After arriving home that day, I went into my house, made some food and played video games, not thinking about the man, but knowing with a sort of subconscious awareness that he was still sitting, motionless, and half naked in his driveway. hours passed and the fathers and mothers and general adults began arriving home from work and the man's presence was beheld her second time now worrying inciting neighborly unease because their children are out to play and a strange man behaving oddly in the vicinity of children is an unsettling thing my own parents had arrived by then and questioned me about the man and I told them as much as I've said now they told me to

Starting point is 00:01:56 remain inside, and then together they joined the other neighbours, who had come out of their homes that slowly approached the man, looking like zookeepers, warily approaching some agitated animal. I watched them through my window, a sense of dread filtering into my blood. I had no clue why, but felt that something awful was about to happen. The group of adults arrived at the man's driveway, and he sat as still as ever, paying no attention to them. the only part of his body that moved his eyelids

Starting point is 00:02:27 all else was still and even his breathing was so faint as to be indiscernible my father was the first to reach him and said something that I couldn't hear through my window I opened it quietly not wanting to give away that I was watching and managed to make out the phrase are you all right to which the man did not respond

Starting point is 00:02:51 similar questions were asked by other residents but no one received an answer I saw some of them exchange worried looks and a few withdrew phones from their pockets either to record the strangeness or prepared to call someone presumably the authorities my dad who in his professional life was a student counsellor wasn't at my school thankfully attempted to be physically supportive kneeling he placed an arm around the man who was assuredly sweaty from having sat shirtless in the sun all day. I was understandably grossed out, but that trivial feeling gave way to abject terror when

Starting point is 00:03:32 the man reacted to my father's touch. Without hesitation, happening the exact moment my dad's arm fell around his shoulders, the neighbour became suddenly animated and seized my dad by the throat in his hands. My mother screamed, the crowd collectively gasped, and before anyone could think, to come to my dad's aid, the neighbour slammed his head on the pavement. In a second, he had climbed at the top of my dazed father and had landed several blows on his head. By the time one of the neighbours had snapped out of their shock and came to restrain the attacking man, my father's head was a plubby mess on the driveway, caved in by the neighbours' mania-strengthened blows.

Starting point is 00:04:13 I was petrified by shock, the unprovoked brutality of it all. I couldn't begin to process it to appropriate. I was like a mannequin in that window, staring dried-eyed at the battered form of my father on the driveway. It was chaos after that. My father was well liked among the neighbourhood, thanks to my father having been helpful to several neighbours' children. When the incident happened, a bit over half the gathered growled, wanted to beat, if not kill the man who had bludgeoned my dad. The other half, desperately wanting to maintain some level of civility, please, leading with the opposing side to call the authorities and let them sort it out.

Starting point is 00:04:55 Despite my father lying dead a few feet away from them, they defended his killer, speculating that mental illness, not malice, had been the cause of the violence, and that he deserved treatment appropriate to the circumstances. In the end, no one harmed the man. They all knew, were all vaguely aware, that executing a man in broad daylight where children were watching from windows was not something the neighbourhood could recover from.

Starting point is 00:05:24 The police were called and the neighbour, who had calmed immediately after murdering my father, was taken away. Neighbours were questioned and everyone reported the same story. My father's body was loaded into an ambulance, black tarp concealing him, and my mother followed the procession of emergency vehicles in her car, firmly instructed me to stay home before departing. She hadn't known that I watched it all.

Starting point is 00:05:50 all and told me that dad had been, quote, hurt. As they left, I peeked through the window and saw several neighbours glancing furtively towards our house, their eyes filled with shock and sorrow. Angered beyond reason, rendered almost stupid by it, I left my home and ran to the neighbour's house. It took every nerve, every ounce of will not to look at the bloodstain on his driveway as I passed it. Luckily, if, luck is even an applicable term for all this. He had left his front door unlocked. I went inside, for the moment, not caring who saw me.

Starting point is 00:06:29 I figured I had a right to investigate the house. If they weren't willing to help my father, but were willing to stop me from trespassing, they weren't neighbours at all. The man's house was dark, dust-chalked and filled with an atmosphere of disuse. Apparently, his breakdown had occurred well before he positioned himself in his driveway. The specific details of his house are largely irrelevant. It had the general makeup of any three-bedroom suburban home, albeit one that had fallen to slow interior ruin. There is only one room, a guest room, that deserves mention.

Starting point is 00:07:08 It was here that I found the organisation and examination of a mystery, one that explained the neighbours' bizarre and savage behaviour. Within this room, crudely affixed to the walls, tacked at the boards, stapled to nearly every service, were pictures of my dad. Earlier, I thought that mere physical contact had revoked the neighbour, that he would have reacted that way

Starting point is 00:07:34 to anyone who touched him. But clearly, evidenced by the pictures in the room, he had some long-held vendetta against my dad. The pictures seemed to date back years, some even other family when we first moved to the neighbourhood, six years earlier. I was only seven then,

Starting point is 00:07:53 and despite the odd obsessiveness of it all, he had had the decency to at least black out my face where I was present. He did the same for my mothers as well. His ire was solely focused on my dad, on a desk covered with folders, these filled with pictures as well,

Starting point is 00:08:12 was a small plastic box. It was black, and by the size of a glasses case and was the focal point of the desk. desk. Everything seemed placed around it, but nothing touched it. Something in my gut told me not to open it, to just let the authorities investigate the house themselves when the time came, but my anger motivated me to find answers. Taking a moment to calm my shaking hands, I reached out and lifted the lid. There was a flash drive inside, and nothing else. I took it out, and as if

Starting point is 00:08:49 brought to my awareness by contact with the thing, I saw a laptop beneath a stack of papers nearby. I opened it, and thankfully it was unlocked. I inserted the flash drive and accessed its contents, which consisted of scans of photographs, articles dating back decades, documents of event schedules, personal entries, and map coordinates. All of it pertaining to an occult organization, of which my father and neighbor were apparently members. According to the documents, some of which were diary entries from various members, the cult had been abruptly disbanded following a ceremony which required the sacrifice of a child. The cult had done objectionable things in the past, but apparently the taking of a child's life was the first and many members objected to it.

Starting point is 00:09:41 Those who were willing to go through with the abominable right did so, after excommunicating the unwilling. Following this schism in ceremony, the cult dissolved, the once loyal members expressing extreme regret at having committed the deed due to the nature in which it was carried out, which was apparently far more torturous for the child than planned. My father and neighbour were of those who conducted the sacrifice. The origin of the abducted child was not mentioned in any of the entries and was not one of the points on the map, most of them being location sites for the occult ceremonies. Once the child had been acquired, the ceremony was held and the life was taken. The exact purpose wasn't disclosed. While I'm sure they had some sick reason, it seemed to me that the sacrifice was largely senseless,

Starting point is 00:10:33 as if no one really knew or dared to speak the Eldridge purpose beyond the name of the entity to which the offering was made. I've copied a short entry from the neighbour's digitised diary, omitting nothing. It has been 20 years since that night. He thinks he can just escape it, just move on, brush all that blackness under a rug. He's married now and he's even fathered a child. But what of the rest of us, those who can't simply turn away from our crimes? Even though they remain unknown to the world. I followed him throughout this period, watching him from the shadows as he goes

Starting point is 00:11:13 about his morally unburdened life. It sickens me, infuriates me. I can't sleep at night, can't eat, can barely perform the tedium of my work. Meanwhile, he acts as if he's normal, as if he hadn't done unspeakable things

Starting point is 00:11:28 in worship of that lonesome, hypercosmic timekeeper, the black horologist. We both have. The only difference is that I feel guilt over them. He doesn't. I've altered myself considerably in the last few years, I'm virtually

Starting point is 00:11:44 unrecognizable now to anyone who has known me. Even the others, those with whom I've meant in contact with, say that it seems as if I'm a completely new person. I've bought her home next door to his, and have watched with disgust as he plays the role

Starting point is 00:12:00 of suburban family man. His roots are gnarled and blackened, and the only thing that can grow from them are rotten, monstrous storks. I won't let him go on living this false way. I can't. He's become a counsellor of a school for God's sake.

Starting point is 00:12:16 What if he's planning and resuming those diabolical practices using one of those children he counsels? I can feel my sanity slipping away. The black horologist has wound his watch and time ticks by. The evidence of the man's entry was abundant. There were pictures of the ceremony. Entries from various members attesting to the same things

Starting point is 00:12:40 and even a few from my father. His were mostly remorseless and unapologetic, dark, poyous. He was sure that his crimes were justified in the worship of this bizarre, time-focused entity. One disturbing entry of his was almost gleeful. He mentions a feeling of beatific joy at having done some unspecific act of mutilation on an animal in alleged service to his master. I found no mention of my mother in any other files. I was thankful for that, at least.

Starting point is 00:13:12 I didn't want to think of my dad as an insane court member, but I suppose it's possible. But my mother, I couldn't imagine her doing any of the vile things detailed in the documents. An hour had passed, and I had no idea when the police would return to conduct a search on the house. I didn't want to just take the flash drive. There was still a lot left to go through, and neither did I want to risk being seen going home and returning with my own drive to copy the files. Luckily, there's that word again. My neighbour had internet access.

Starting point is 00:13:48 I planned on uploading the files to an online storage service I had an account with, but the moment I initiated the upload, the files and the drive started being deleted. Before I could salvage any of it, it was all gone, wiped by some security encryption measure in the flash drive. Apparently, he hadn't wandered the data to delete the drive and was willing to cedar raised rather than be transferred. I no longer had proof of my dad's involvement in a murderous cult and the only remaining evidence were the pictures. The resultant narrative, rather than the truth, was that my

Starting point is 00:14:25 neighbour was simply deranged and obsessive and had murdered my father for some unknowable reason. That's how it played out in the end. He never said anything to anyone, not the police, not the lawyers appointed to him. People believed it was to avoid incriminating himself further. The pictures in the guest room were undeniably damning. But I believe his silence was not because he was unwilling to talk, but because he was unable to. His mind, if his diary entries are an accurate representation of it,

Starting point is 00:14:59 was already greatly unravelled. The man that murdered my father had only done so out of some instinctual impulse. the last vestige of sense in an otherwise broken mind. I relate this story now in the hopes that someone here can possibly provide more information on this profane cult and the sinister being they supposedly served.

CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My neighbor murdered my dad. After searching his house, I don't blame him" Creepypasta

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