CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My son has the same imaginary friend as me" Creepypasta

Episode Date: December 14, 2020

Mr. Shands is back. CREEPYPASTA STORY►by jalapeno-whiskey: 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►Angela Sae-Lam: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/o1xLmSUGGESTED 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-

Tap, tap, tap. The white cane tapped against the railroad tracks, gathering spiders under the moonlight. They ran from beneath the crumbling bricks of the old smokestack, from inside the rusting hulk of an abandoned box car, and from the red brick remnants of the factory itself, the spiders melding into the cane and becoming one with it. The image of the tall, bent figure with a birch cane flashed into my mind

as I sat behind the wheel of the idling squad car. I flipped on the flashing lights and punched the gun. gas. Never before had I received any kind of psychic vision, and the force of it struck terror in my heart. I had to get home to my family. I had to get home to my son. I'd been under incredible stress the last few days, having stumbled upon my former partner and narcotics detective, taking a large stash of dope from the evidence room, which certainly explained the Alpha Romeo he'd recently bought. He had no idea I was aware of what he'd done, had probably done many times before, but I was a straight cop. In fact, everything I did in my life was by the

book, and not just legally, because, as a boy, I'd done something so awful I'd spent my whole life trying to wipe it from my brain. Tap, tap, tap. The white cane tapped fences, mailboxes and curbstones, gathering more spiders from manicured lawns and short driveways. My wife and I had long known my son had an imaginary friend, but at first we didn't worry much about it, supposing it was nothing unusual for a boy. We did grow more concerned when he reached the fifth grade and still carried on with his friend, and we became somewhat alarmed when we learned it was some kind of old man, but we hoped maybe he just wanted a grandfather. My wife had never known a father, and as for mine, he had died tragically with the rest of my family when I was young. But then,

my son told us the imaginary friend's name, Mr. Shanz. It was the name itself that loosened the mountain of buried memories in my head, and they'd been tumbling down in an avalanche ever since. For Mr. Shans had been the name of my own boyhood imaginary friend, and I'd never told anyone. In the worst of the childhood memories that now came back, I was standing in the yard, watching the flames lick from the windows of my old house, praying my parents and sister would make it out.

Mr. Shand stooped over his cane behind me, his shadow from the streetlight stretching towards the burning house. Neighbours ran toward me from the yard next door. My mother, whose face I can barely remember now, screamed in agony. Dad cried out my sister's name as he tried to reach her. The neighbours arrived, worried looks on their faces, prepared to shelter me protectively. But they froze when they saw what was on the ground beside me. A gasoline can institutionalised for years

I eventually ended up in an orphanage all memory of the fire and shans buried in my mind what remained was a driving subconscious need to live right to balance the ledger for some great sin tap tap I saw the cane making its way of my own driveway I burned rubber down the street of my neighbourhood switching on the sirens hoping irrationally

that the noise would scare off Mr Shans pulling in front of the house and leaving the Flashes on, I bolted through the living room towards the stairs. My wife, Sandra, on the sofa watching TV, jumped to her feet. John, what is it? She asked, chasing behind me as I ran up the stairs. I had the shattering of glass halfway down the hallway to my son's door. Busting through, I switched on the light.

My son sat, terrified on his bed, huddled defensively against the wall, blood on the sheets. Cold air blew in through the shattered window. Looking down, I saw a thousand wriggling black spiders crawling over shards of glass, marching towards me, climbing the desk, reaching the comforter on the bed. I ran over to the bed, spider squashing under my boots, scooped Todd into my arms, and ran from the room just as Sandra arrived with a gasp. Drops of blood dripped to the floor from my son as we ran. Downstairs, we found his injury was very minor, a cut on one of his feet.

Harry, our beagle, sniffed hard anxiously. We let the dog climb onto the couch and lick his face, which helped calm him, and our son then tried to reassure the dog he was okay. I called for backup and an exterminator. The backup showed first, of course, but they couldn't determine whether the window had broken from the inside or the outside. I had a dream-like memory of the boy's dark room when I first slammed open his door, a glimpsed white cane thrust through the broken window, tapping the sill and shooting a stream of something black onto the floor.

Of course, that was impossible, so I didn't mention it to anyone. By next morning, the window had been replaced, the spiders vacuumed out, those we could find anyway, and everything put back to normal. But I needed answers, and I barely knew where to begin. How could my son have the same imaginary friend that I once had? I wasn't religious, but the man I sought out now had been a mentor all of my life. Rabbi Stone My dad had been an Episcopal priest whose best friend was a rabbi,

ancient-looking even then. My father first met Rabbi Stone when consulting him on the Old Testament but before long the old man became someone he sought out on personal matters as well and the old rabbi never abandoned me even after what I had done to my family

he visited me at whatever institution they locked me up in and with his help I eventually came to remember my family as the victims of some random tragedy. As I grew into a young man, whenever I experienced doubt or felt like I was drifting without purpose, he managed to help me find the strength to keep a steady path. I arrived at his humble home late that morning and was met warmly by his wife, Rachel,

who washed me into a husband's office. Rabbi Stone had been over many times for dinner, so he knew my family well. Looking more like Yoda as the years went by, he sat behind a clustered desk that dwarfed him. After pleasantries, I didn't waste time. Rabbi, I must ask you, Do you believe in evil? I don't mean bad people or bad luck.

I'm talking about something outside of everyday reality. He pulled thoughtfully at his whiskers before finally answering. When you spend your life reading the old text, one thing that is striking is how much like us Yahweh seems. Jealous, angry, hurt, sometimes even annoyed, We tend to think it's simply because those desert nomads had a very primitive understanding of God. And it's true, they did not think in terms of some grand engineer of the cosmos. But their God was more knowable.

You might encounter him walking on the road as Abraham did, or at an inn like Moses. I've actually come to prefer their view, to see God as a being you can warmly embrace. But if we accept this view, we must also accept that there are other spiritual beings, some of whom are not so warm. Whereas Yahweh is strengthened by human love, these draw from jealousy, fear, and guilt. He rose with difficulty from behind his desk and came around, took me by the arm.

Such spirits prey on the innocent, but it is not the innocent which fuel their power. You were guilty of no evil as a boy. It was your father who unwittingly invited evil into your home. This came as a shock to me. Memories of my father were vague, but I had the impression of a very moral man. I didn't ask the rabbi for specifics, and he didn't seem to want to get into it. What he emphasized was the boy's innocence.

The sin that opened the door to Shanz was not his. After a short while, I was on my way to the station to report my old partner's theft from the evidence room to internal affairs. If you consider me a rat, I get it, but understand what I felt was at stake. my family Ross Clayton had been more than a partner he was one of my best friends things had been more cool recently

but I still considered him a brother the thought of destroying him crushed me but my talk with the rabbi made me realise that it was my guilt that invited evil into my home my sin that put my son in jeopardy my father had once done something that first brought this shans into our lives

and the being had lain dormant until my guilt brought it back. The rest of the afternoon became a nightmare of giving statements to internal affairs. I would have to surrender my badge if they wanted it, and I thought I would at least face suspension while it was sorted out. But instead, they made me swear to keep quiet

while they did their investigation. They wanted me to go to work as normal, so Ross or anyone else involved wouldn't become suspicious. They told me not even to tell my wife. That evening, at dinner, Sandra could tell I was under enormous stress, but what you couldn't see was how a burden had also been taken off my shoulders.

I would get ostracized at work once all this came out, but for now the burden had been lifted. My conscience was clear, and hopefully we'd seen the last of shards. Todd picked silently at his meal. There were things I wanted to ask, but didn't. I wanted to know everything he could tell me about Mr. Shenz, but it seemed like drawing attention to it would only give the demon more power. Instead, I focused on making my son know I didn't hold him responsible, that he was innocent.

All three of us were, and if we believed in that, nothing could harm us. The look on my wife's face told me she doubted these words. Did she somehow know that I had turned in my partner? I went to work that night for my usual shift, six to midnight. The night felt strange to me now that I saw. the world in such a different way, full of forces and beings beyond our understanding. Why had an entity latched onto my family? Surely we were not the only family tainted by sin and guilt.

I cruised in the squad car absorbed in these thoughts. When? Tap, tap, tap, tap. The image of the white cane again slammed into my mind. I almost drove into a parked car. This time the cane gathered flies. I saw them swarming off dead rats and parked. of dog crap, buzzing out of dumpsters and barrels, melting with a cane just as the spiders had.

The tall, bent figure tapped his way along the railroad tracks, and with each tap, I imagined cracks splintering out across the land and poisoning the world. When the man turned away from the tracks and into the neighbourhood, I punched on the flashes and hit the gas. My mind raced as I sped to the other side of town. Why was Shand still stalking us? I had cleaned my conscience. the guilt fuelling him had been cleansed.

I called Sandra. Get upstairs and check on Todd. There's something wrong. Another minute and I'd be there. In my mind came the image of Todd's second floor window from the outside, as though I was viewing it from a ladder. In the reflection I saw, not myself, but a hooded old man with cracked skin like withered concrete.

It felt like the old man was looking at my reflection in that window, and a slight smile curled on the corners of his. mouth. As I pulled in front of the house, I saw a male figure slip out of the sliding glass door on the side of the house and scamper off into the direction of the homes behind ours. No time to chase him. I ran into the house. Pounding came from upstairs. My wife yelling our son's name. I bolted up the stairs, heart pounding so hard it echoed through my whole body. My wife, pounding on Todd's door, was in full panic. He won't open it. I checked the knob, locked. Shug the door. Shugged the door. shouting my son's name.

Already I could hear buzzing from within. Stepping back, I launched into the door with my shoulder, splitting the lock through the wood. We both rushed into a swarm of flies. It was almost impossible to see through the black cloud. We brushed them from her eyes, choking, my wife shouting Todd's name. I noted the window was intact,

but opened a couple of inches. No one was in the bed, no one under the desk. Then I noticed flies, gathering like a living sheet on the closet door, I ran over and whipped it open. Todd sat inside, a blank look on his face, flies crawling across it. As I started to reach for him, I noticed something in his lap so covered in flies, there was no way to know what it was.

I pushed my hand into the squirming black mass, swatting the flies away until the head of our beagle, Harry became visible. Todd didn't resist me when I pulled him out from underneath the poor dog and ushered him out of the room with Sandra, still brushing flies off. him, we walked him downstairs. I put in a call for backup again, telling them to search the area for a mail lurking in the yards nearby. I almost said an old man, but I wasn't sure that it had been what I saw. We couldn't get Todd to say a word. He seemed catatonic.

An ambulance arrived and the paramedics thought he should be taken to the hospital. We would go with him, of course. But before we boarded, one of the officers came down from Todd's room. broken neck he whispered Harry had died from a broken neck could Todd possibly have been strong enough to break a beagle's neck it seemed unlikely I decided to let Sandra go with Todd to the hospital

and I would meet them there shortly I wanted to have a look around the neighbourhood first out back I noticed shoe prints in the dirt snapped photos with my phone I followed the trail into the yard diagonally behind ours which belonged to the drum and the drum and A couple of other cops were still nosing around. Watching nervously from the window of the house was Ned Drummond himself, whose demean

changed when he saw me. I could see him making his way to the door. I got there just as he opened it. Bill? He said. What's going on? A little incident at the house, I told him. Did you see anyone come through here?

I was asleep until I saw the light. Drummond looked around nervously before continuing. but my wife set up one of those door cameras might have picked up something. Let's check it out. The feed runs to her phone. She will be home from work in about an hour. Rather than wait, I decided to go to the hospital to be with my family. On the way to return my squad car to the station, I called Rabbi Stone.

I'm sorry to wake you, Rabbi. Don't worry about it, he said. Now tell me what's wrong. This chance thing hit my family again. No one is hurt, but the dog is dead, and my son is on the way to the hospital, for it seems like a psychotic episode. I can be there in a half hour, the rabbi offered. Thank you, but that's not necessary. I'm just wondering if you learned anything else.

I did, he replied. Shanz is possibly another name for Samail, one of the fallen. Early Christians equated him with Satan. The ancient Hebrews considered him the angel of death, but you have to look at the same. Further back to the Sumerians to find the first encounter with this being, they depicted it as a serpent, the whisperer of lies. How do we fight it? Only by removing the sin that empowers it. I thanked him and took my own car from the station to the hospital. I found Sandra watching over Todd, who was sleeping comfortably in the private room. We slipped into the hallway to talk. I touched her arm and she pulled away. Did she blame me for what we?

what's going on with our son? There had been a distance between us lately, and as I thought about it, perhaps there had been for some time. I had a tendency to get absorbed in problems at work, and I didn't let her inside my world. She could be such a source of strength at times, and other times so vulnerable.

By shoulding her from my troubles, I had left her feeling cut off. By not leaning on her for help, I had made her feel unneeded. I'm sorry, I told her. She looked at me with genuine surprise. For what? The only thing that really matters is the three of us, I said.

Sometimes I forget that. Her eyes softened. So many things she wanted to say, I could tell. But now was not the time. Instead, she said, I don't understand what's happening. We're under attack, I explained. There are things I haven't told you.

Things I didn't even remember until recent. But I promise you, no more secrets. She started the cry. Todd could not have harmed Harry. He loved that dog. I put my arms around her, and this time she didn't resist. It wasn't Todd, I said. I had to go check some video footage at her neighbours, see if it picked up anything.

I'll be back right after that. I kissed her on the top of her head and left. Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the Drummond's driveway. As soon as I went back to the hospital, I intended to come clean with Sandra about everything, my childhood, my discussions with Rabbi Stone, and even the fact that I had turned in my old partner, Ross, to internal affairs. No more secrets. It was very late, so I appreciated that my neighbours had waited up for me.

I think we got him, Mr Drummond said excitedly. I felt excited, terrified and baffled. Did they really watch Shansom video? Was that even possible? Mrs. Drummond, who did a couple of shifts bartending in addition to a real estate job, was setting up a phone so we could watch the footage on a 32-inch monitor in the living room.

Is your son aright? he asked me. You'll be fine, the dog, not so much. My God, Mrs. Drummond said, That's awful. Wait till you see this, Mr. Drummond said. I think we got the creep cutting through the yard. I held my breath as the video came on. The drummins kept a well-lit yard.

The camera faced the street. A figure appeared walking through their yard. Pause it, I said. Too shattery to make out much, definitely male, tall. Not stooped over, however. No cane. Okay, I said, slow motion. The figure did not walk like an old man.

When he reached the street, he jumped. into an SUV. As it pulled out, I then paused it again so I could see the license plate. Jesus, there was no need to call it in. I recognized it right away. The SUV belonged to Ross Clayton, my former partner. Moments later, I sat heavily behind the steering wheel and waited to start the car. I now understood why my wife had been so distant lately. How long had it been going on? I could feel the air being sucked right out of my world with a whoosh. I started the car. My son's life, maybe even his soul, was at stake.

If you had asked me a week ago whether I believed in demons, I would have laughed. Of course, if you had asked me a week ago whether I'd killed my parents and sister, I would have looked at you, perplexed. If you had asked whether my wife was sleeping around, with my former partner, no less, I would have punched you in the nose. Before I put the car in gear, knew I was. understanding hit me with the force of a stormfront. It had not been my consuming feeling of guilt that had opened the door to Shanz.

My father's sin had brought that demon into my family, but Sandra was the one feeding its strength now. I was about to finally hit the gas and head for the hospital. When? Tap, tap, tap. The image of the white cane tapping outside a factory flashed into my mind. My muscles were locked frozen. The scrawny, bent figure, walked amid the strewn rubble.

but the old decaying factory still lived, machinery beating deep inside, a furnace somewhere within still flaming. Spouts of fire shot from that furnace outcracks in blackened windows to become one with a white cane. Shanz crept along the city's streets, blue fire arcing from streetlights,

which crashed with the pop, and jumping from cars which stuttered to a stop, and from apartment towers which blinked out. All of these trickles of fire streaming into the terrible cane. He was coming. this time with fire. I remembered the gas can beside me all those years ago.

I raced the car across town, running stop signs and red lights, swerving to the wrong side of the road to pass pockets of cars. Anger started the rise within me towards Sandra, who had betrayed me, but I knew it was crucial that I suppress it. This being, whatever it was, turned guilt into power, and I suspected it could exploit any negative emotion. I left the car on the front entrance, throwing the keys to the valet and running inside straight for the elevator.

Come on, come on, come on, come on. Here he was. It was here. Shands, Samail, whatever it was. The elevator zipped me to the seventh floor. I ran hallways darkened for the night, my footsteps, the only noise in the empty corridor. Bursting into the room of my sons,

I found Sandra sleeping in a chair. No one else was there, and for a moment I felt relief, until I realized the bed was empty. I flicked on the lights. Sandra woke up, immediately anxious. I pushed my way into the bathroom, empty. What is it?

My wife asked. He's gone. I ran back into the hallway and from station and station until I found a nurse. Did you see a boy? I asked. She shook her head. An image exploded into my mind. The hospital and fire.

Flames shooting from her. from a couple of floors of windows. It had not happened yet, though. How could such a fire even be set? Hospitals have tremendous fire safety protocols and sprinkler systems. Gas. Only gas could create a large fire. And the very thought brought another psychic image into my mind.

A decrepit hand, inhumanely long, charcoal grey skin and yellow nails. Turning valves. I ran for the waiting elevator. Sandra caught up to me. I punched the button to the lowest floor. What's going on? she demanded. I took both her hands and looked hard into her eyes, making sure I felt no anger, no guilt.

I groped through my thoughts for the love I felt for my son, for my wife, and channeled all of that into my eyes. I love you, I told her, and I'm going to make this all right, all of it. I searched her eyes. If she no longer loved me, I felt I would see it and would accept it. Would love her anyway.

Would let her go with love. But I couldn't tell. It's not your fault, I whispered. Before she could reply, the doors opened and I ran out into darkened corridors, normally reserved for staff only. We ran by huge carts stacked with trays of dishes. I grabbed a kitchen worker. Where are the oxygen tanks?

What? I pulled out my badge. The tank son, it's an emergency. down there to the left I ran Sandra following me into a large bay My son stood a short distance away With a match poised the strike

I froze where I was Stopping Sandra with my hand Air hissed from dozens of oxygen tanks Bins of rags had been moved close by Some strewn on the floor Even more alarming My son stood in the middle of a huge puddle Nearby

Empty bottles confirmed my worst fear rubbing alcohol. I noticed a red door beside an alarm panel opening on its own. A water valve turned. The sprinklers. He was turning them off. The long shadow of a bent figure

reached from behind my son. Tard, I whispered. Dad, he mumbled. Confusion marked his eyes and face. He understood none of what was happening. Memory of the flaming hospital ran through my mind. I edged closer. Tard, listen to me.

There's something you need to know. Shanz was my friend too, when I was about your age. The tip of the match touching the box, held still. I know, Tad said. He told me that if you listen to him, you would have saved your family. He lies, I said. That's what he does. I just want things to be like they were, he said.

They will be. just put down the match. It seemed like his muscles were locked and he struggled against them. My family, I said, was stepping slowly into the puddle of rubbing alcohol. All burned to death because of me, because of his tricks. Tears started streaming down his face. I can't stop him, he cried. My hands went listen.

I was in striking distance. One quick swipe and I could grab the matches. I focused on them. I was about to grab them, and I saw the tip snap along the box. The match sparked into flame and fell from his hand. I could see the flame reflecting off the puddle of rubbing alcohol as the match fell. My hand shut forward. If I missed, we were all dead, and probably hundreds of people with us.

All that oxygen in the room might ignite, even without the rubbing alcohol. The lit matchstick landed right in my hand. I squeezed it out. Then, scooped in my son and ran towards my wife. But the danger was not over. Shant had grown powerful enough to turn valves. Certainly, he could produce a spark. I handed Todd to Sandra, yelling,

Go, go! Then ran back toward the water valve of the sprinklers. Light bulbs began to pop. Sparks shut from the fixtures. I was halfway to the circuit breaker when the rubbing alcohol ignited. Before I had taken a few more steps, an explosion of fire blew through the room. Fire took everything combustible, the bins of rags, cardboard boxes, my clothing and my hair.

As I reached the breaker, I could feel my skin melting. Hot air singed my lungs. I could barely see through eyes that had lost their lids. But drawing on my years of police work, which included responding to fires, I focused on the water valve. I turned it. The skin of my hand melted under the steel, but the sprinklers immediately sprayed jets of water. Alarms blared. I slumped down against the wall.

Smoke burned into my damaged lungs, making me gasped for breath. Time flowed like molasses, and I was only loosely aware that the fire went out. Sometime later, rescue crews found me. Sandra stayed with me as to wield me away, telling me Todd was unharmed, but recovery had been long and hard. My face and hands are badly disfigured. Sandra spends time with me. But how can I tell what she does outside of the hospital?

Todd will hopefully be released soon. Unlike me, he will not have to deal with the knowledge that he killed his family, but he will have a terrible reminder of what happened every time he sees once left in my face. As for Shanz, I fear he bides his time.