CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My regular customer only wants one thing" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 15, 2020

CHECK OUT THE AUTHOR'S YOUTUBE CHANNEL► https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCobM...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by MikeJesus: 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...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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Oh yeah, only mudder. Drove blitheve? Goar for. Find what you need to have on amazon.com.b. Consider this. A newlywed couple gets into an argument one morning. It starts off as a petty squabble about a clogged up drain but ends up becoming a guided tour of every single issue that has ever plagued the relationship.

Insults are heaved. parental comparisons are made. Reoccurring themes are established. When all is said and done, the two parties march off to separate sides of the apartment and quietly seethe. Yet the anger doesn't last long. As a lazy Sunday morning turns into a lazy Sunday afternoon, the words used in the bloodletting seem overly sharp. They both feel kind of guilty. She's sprawled out on the bed with a book, rereading the same paragraph for the seventh time. When he peeks into the bedroom, she pretends not to notice him. He is about to apologize, but he is a bit too proud for that. Instead, he offers an olive branch. Are you hungry? She shrugs. Kinder.

I'm going to Pavils. You want something? Chipotle cheeseburger and a soda. She bats her eyelashes. I love you, he blots out, surprising himself. Love you too, she says. going back to a book. It isn't until he realizes he doesn't have breakfast. His mouth waters of Pavel's bistro's Chipotle cheeseburger. The image of his future lunch looms in his mind's eye,

a tangible delight hiding just a couple blocks and minutes away from him. By the time he walks out on the street, the thought of the burger becomes tangible. He can smell the freshly baked bun. He can feel the juices He tickle down his chin It's as if the burger His mouth His stomach feels warm and satiated As if it had already accepted the first bite

A perfect manifestation of Pavel's bistro Chippoly Burger Exists in the man's head The thought remains in his mind As the man is blindsided By a grey scot of Fabia The taste of the burger lingers in his mouth

As he's lifted off his feet and propelled at breakneck speed into the asphalt. The first time his skull connects with the pavement, the taste jambles into a burnt facsimile of the Chipotle cheeseburger. On his second bounce, the man loses consciousness. On his third, his brains spill across the sidewalk. The more spiritually inclined among you might wonder what happens to this man's essence, to his memories, to his sense of self, his soul, will. Will he carry on? Will the argument, will, will the argument, keep him tied to the mortal realm? The question no one asks, the question that truly needs to be answered, is the question of what happens to that perfectly manifested thought of the cheeseburger. There was a constant flow of customers in and out of Pavel's bistro. We were, after all, one of the best burger joints in Prague.

Every day, Of hung over tourists Picky hipsters Would give me their orders Yet, all of their words Were just background noise There was only one customer Who would always have my full attention

A single mystery That kept my mind occupied Through the long hours The Chipotle guy Early 30s Drab jacket Receding hairline He didn't look like anything special

But beneath the that urban camouflage, there was something eerie. He'd been in the bistro every day at precisely six past one. If there was a line, he would patiently wait. But if you watched them closely, you could see a nervous tap in his foot. It was the same order every day too, two Chipotle Cheeseburgers and a soda. He refused to hear the specials or recommendations or any attempt at small talk. Just two Chipotle cheeseburgers, not a thought of thought of he'd order the food to go, but as soon as his order was finished, he'd take out one of the burgers from the bag and eat it in the restaurant.

The moment he was done with this burger, he would get up and leave. Every day, six past one, two Chipotle cheeseburgers and a soda. When I brought up the specter of the Chipotle Guide to my co-workers, They laughed, and when they realised, and when they avoided eye contact. I knew that there was something impossibly odd about the Jopoli guy. I just couldn't put my finger on it. For weeks I doubted myself, questioned my own sanity. But my suspicions became certainties during a spring thunderstorm.

It was the type of storm that makes you fear a flood. The world outside was condensed into roaring thunder and the occasional splashing by. All morning, we only managed one sale, a single cup of coffee to a drenched dog walker. He ran in when the storm picked up, ordered a hot drink to dry off, watched the unrelenting downpour for 15 minutes and then ran back out to take his chances. I watched the clock the whole day, counting down the minutes, gathering all of my doubts. six past one, right on cue. the Chipotle guy was there. He ordered his two burgers, sat down to eat one of them, got up and left.

Yet, as I saw him walk out of the restaurant, as I traced back his path to the table and to his seat, a jittery satisfaction crawled at my spine. The man had not left any tracks. It was pouring outside, yet somehow, I did not have the answer yet. my doubts had vanished. there was something unearthly going on.

I could feel myself inching closer to uncovering the true nature of the Chapolet guy. I knew I had to follow him. My lungs didn't approve, but I negotiated my morning cigarette break to be moved to the early afternoon. The park outside saw. of the bistro made for a perfect vantage point. The eccentric vagrants which hung out

around the benches were harmless, but discomforting enough to ensure that no one spent too much time in eye contact. With my apron off and a little bit of luck, the Chipotle guy wouldn't notice me watching him. The afternoon after the thunderstorm, I lit up and patiently waited for the mystery to unravel. Half past one he was out of the bistro. The man walked past the benches, completely oblivious to my presence. He simply stared straight ahead, his takeout bag dangling in his hand. As he reached the edge of the park, however, the takeout bag slipped from his hand and ended up on the benches. It didn't stay there long. Within a blink, one of the transient park dwellers had snatched it up and rustled through its contents with hungry eyes. The Chipotle guy

just kept on walking. Letting go of the bag wasn't a slip. The whole affair played out with a smoothness of daily routine. I got up from my bench and followed the Chipotle guy further. We walked through the maze of Prague for nearly half an hour. We crossed through the well-lit passageways etched into the Parisian houses, through the winding Gothic streets, through crowds of stag parties looking for Irish pubs. Not for a single second did the man slow down. He moved with measured determination, not let him.

anything getting his way. It wasn't until he reached a quiet, residential area that he stopped. The street was completely empty. It was a type of place where drivers would sneak peek at the text or just read GPS directions. The Chipotle guy stopped at a crosswalk, took a deep breath and stepped out onto the crossing. What I saw next obliterated any of my doubts about the unnatural nature of the chapolet guy. Before the man's connected with the crossing, as if he were whisked away by a force foreign to rational thought. He disappeared.

After I returned back to Pavel's bistro, I was chastised for my extended smoke break, yet the yelling of the manager was nothing but a screeching backdrop to my internal monologue. I knew what I'd seen. I was certain of it. Research was in order. I travelled to the forbidden of the internet. I peered

inaccessible through all but the most niche of browsers. I scroll through forums where poor rambling grammar gave way to forbidden secrets. I read other accounts of mysterious customers. My evenings became filled with stories of reoccurring demands

for outdated menu items of strange requests of desperate beings struggling to find meaning and family owned businesses. Only after weeks of inquiry, when I was certain, of the true nature of my mysterious did I confront him. Want to smoke? I asked. I wasn't hiding this time. I was right outside of the bistro as he walked out. The man looked confused, as if he was unaccustomed to being spoken to about anything unrelated to his order. No, I don't smoke. He finally said, and started to start to to walk away. Why not? I yelled after him. It's not like they you. He stopped. What do you mean? His voice was completely void of emotion. You can't die from

lung cancer, I said. If you're already dead, the take-up bag rustled in his shaking hand. Something horrid rested behind his beady eyes. A steady burning flame ready to crackle to life at a moment's notice. What do you want? He hissed through his teeth. Details, I said. I want to know how you died. He strode up to me. He smelled just like a burger grill. A burger grill covered in the child mistakes of yesteryear. I owe you nothing. His tone made me feel unsafe. There was a threatening hollowness to it, an inhuman quality. He stared at me, stoke in my dread with his lifeless eyes. And then, when I was sure he would snatch me away and take me to some horrible realm, he left.

The knowledge that I had instigated some sort of primal eldridge force kept sleep from me that night. My mind filled with thoughts of death of a shrieking, desperate sentience demanding to walk the world after being rid of its mortal coil. I promised I promised, one, one where I would not to interact with spirit. yet, before I could fully commit to quitting,

I found myself standing at the counter of Pavel's Bistro. Six past one, he walked in. The man made his order, as he always did, and I told him the price.

It was as if nothing had changed, as if the previous day was a figment of my imagination. Yet, as he paid me, Our eyes met. The same hollow expression from the day prior lingered on his face. I owe you nothing, he hissed. I nodded. He placed the money on the counter, paying far too much. With the cash he had put down, he could have afforded a dozen Chipotle cheeseburgers,

but instead he simply repeated his order. Keep the change, he said, sitting down on his usual spot. Then he patiently waited for his burger, ate his burger, and was out the door by half-past one. The scene repeated itself over the coming days. Each time the man would pay for his order, he would buy my silence with some... Change. The details of the mystique surrounding the Chipotle guy was still foreign to me. But the extra income he provided was enough to let me be content with not knowing the location or circumstances of his passing.

His daily tips slowly bloated into a rainy day fund. If there ever was to be a storm, a lack of work, or a mystery, or a mystery that required my full attention, I would be just as dry as the Chipotle guy. We carried on our secret dealings for months. Our exchange became wordless. I would simply provide two Chipotle cheeseburgers without taking needless questions, and he would put a dent in my rent. It seemed as if our partnership had reached a perfect equilibrium,

but the waters of the Prague's are seldom calm Prague being a stone's throw away from Hamburg takes its burgers seriously each summer there is a burger festival where any restaurant that offers anything even remotely similar

to a hamburger is in attendance those who fare well at the burger festival are flooded with customers who crave the best of the best that summer Pavel's bistro's presence was undeniable at the burger fest and so were the crowds that followed our awards.

The owner was beyond ecstatic about our newfound fame. The side of the lines made him puff up his shoulders and approached the grill with a newfound gusto. The Chipotle guy tolerated the crowds although his dislike of waiting in line became much more pronounced. His foot tapping became audible

he would break out into coughing fits if the uninitiated customer started taking up my time by asking about the sourcing of our meat. The Chipotle guy knew He couldn't do anything Yet, yet There was another party that disliked our newfound fame Our competitors

Palms were greased Evidence was fabricated Strings were pulled And before we knew it Pavel's Bistro was shut down on health code violations The shutdown only lasted a week But any hint of a health code violation Is a blow in the restaurant industry

I'm ashamed to say that during my week-long vacation, I did not think about the Chipotle guy. I simply enjoyed sitting around in my pajamas all day, dwelling into the darker parts of the internet, and dining lavishly thanks to my rainy day fund. I thought about how work would be calmer once the crowds left, how I would have more time to explore fantastic concepts in my daydreams at work. At no point did I consider how the Chipotle guy might be handling his hunger for the cheeseburgers. I will never forget what I will never forget that Monday morning when I return to work.

The ghastly apparition of the Chipotle guy will forever remain embedded in my dreams. The memory of his wild, pleading voice will forever haunt any silence I encounter. The creature that I met that morning was a far cry from my regular customer. As I walked through the park to get to work, he leapt at me. Chipotle Cheeseburger, he screamed. If it was not for his clothes, I would not have recognised him. That drab coat that I had seen day after day was the only thing that was familiar about him.

It was the only thing that even suggested humanity. The man's skin had gone a horrid, ashy shade of grey. His pupils had completely dissipated into the milky glow of his eyeballs. His fingers had morphed into sharp, black claws, which were digging into my arms. Chipotle cheeseburgers!

He screamed. His breath smelled His teeth moved. His teeth His teeth spreading deep down his throat. The Chipotle More promised to be fed one way or another. How many? As many as can Chipotle Cheeseburger. On that day of our confrontation was now in full force. His voice was no longer hollow. It was wild. Desperate.

It came from a home. stronger, Chippole cheeseburger. Chippoge burger. Yes, I will bring as many as I can. I felt his grip loosened around me. I just need money. I desperately searched for understanding in those bleak eyes.

For a second, it seemed like there was none to be found. Like the Chipotle guy would tear apart my throat from sheer madness. But after a terrifying eternity, the creature stood up. He fished his own. wallet out of his coat and handed it to me. As many chapolet cheeseburgers as can, he hissed. I ran into the bistro and fired up the grill. I returned with half a dozen burgers that his wallet afforded him. The grey creature jumped onto the food as if he was a rabid animal. The first burger disappeared in mere seconds, the second followed soon after. It was only with a third that the

The Chipotle guy started to breathe. his eyes started to clear with a fourth burger. By the fifth, his colour was starting to return. He started to speak as he ate his final Chipotle burger. Thank you, he said in between bites. I'm sorry if I hurt you or scared you. I don't know what this is, what this hunger is. All I know is that every day I wake up with a full wallet and I crave the Chipotle

cheeseburger. I have to have it. Something within me screams for it. It's the only thing in life makes sense to me. I eat my burger and then. He shoved the rest of the burger in his mouth. I disappear. The Chipotle guy had transformed from a horrifying creature of the dark into my regular, aggressively boring, daily customer. How did you die? I asked. He shrugged. He didn't know. All he knew was that he needed his daily chipotle cheeseburger. He needed to smell the freshly baked bun to feel the juices of the meat trickled down his chin. It was the one truth that drove him.

What about the other burger? Why do you leave it behind? He shrugged again. I don't know, he said. I just feel like it's not mine to eat. And with that, he got up and left. left. I saw him again at six past one, but we didn't speak of the morning. We simply went on with our usual arrangement. He ordered his burgers and I collected an absurd tip. We never spoke

of the morning. Our exchanges soon became silent once more. For months we carried on. My burgers feeding a mysterious, metaphysical need and the Chipotle guy's wallet preparing me for a rainy day. Then one day. the rain came. The world was struck with a plague. On the 12th of March 2020, the restaurants of Prague closes doors to businesses in order to prevent the spread of the infectious disease, a once thriving city of gourmet burgers had to bow its head low to McDonald's deliveries. After months of silence, however, the streets are to fill with good food once more. Pavel's Bistro and other businesses will be able to reopen outdoor seating

eating. The Chipotle guy's money has kept me afloat over the rainy months, but the thought of returning to work next week makes me shiver to my core. I saw what one week of being denied his calling caused him to turn into. I cannot imagine what monstrous effects 50 days of deprivation will have. I fear that there are no amount of burgers to satiate the Chipotle cheeseburger guy. I fear that his daily order will change.