CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My Unborn Sibling spoke to Me" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 2, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by NeverBeenHereBefore0: 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►Nerkin: https://www.deviantart.com/nerkin/art...​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/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 was an only child up to the age of six, and, truth be told, and I don't remember much of the time I spent being the only recipient of attention from my family. I remember that my parents liked to do it on me, almost to an excruciating degree, and my grandparents did no less of the sorts. If anything, they did it even more, providing me with more sugary treats, toys and gifts any kid could only dream to get.

It was entertaining in the beginning. Soon enough, however, I realised that it would be fun to have a sibling, someone to share the glory of being the son or daughter of this family. I didn't know it at the time, but my parents had trouble conceiving children. Having me was a risk and a hassle enough as it was, so having another one seemed unlikely. Yet, it seemed that my prayers were answered, because, not long after I turned six,

my mother announced that there would be another baby in the family. There was a grand celebration and every family member in the vicinity. My aunt and uncle with my cousin Benedict, my grandparents, some of the relatives I didn't know about, attended the gathering and gave their congratulations to my parents. There was cake and balloons and gifts to help prepare for the upcoming arrival of my sibling. I was ecstatic as well, and I could see the tears in my mother's eyes as everything unfolded around them.

At first, I expected them to be tears of pure joy. She was a very emotional person. However, the longer I looked at her as she tried to dry the tears away, my six-year-old mind could already deduce that it wasn't a look of joy. It was pain that filled her gaze. The months went by in the blink of an eye, and while my father and I were counting down the days before my sibling finally arrived, my mother seemed to grow gaunter and wearier with each day that went by.

I thought she would be happy having another child. My father and I certainly were. But why did her happiness seem to with her? I wasn't the only one who seemed to notice this. My father did, and I hid behind the door when he confronted her about this. He even went as far as the suggest therapy, to what he referred to as postpartum depression, which I didn't know what it was at the time,

and my mother lashed out at him, and a huge fight erupted between them. Why are you so against this, Liz? This is what we both wanted. My father yelled at her. I didn't want this. You did. My mother snapped back. I never agreed to this.

I thought you were going to be happy. We were trying for so long and all we got was Ellie. Ellie was enough, James. For you, for both of us. I went to my room after that, not wanting to hear anything else as I hid under my covers, trying to muffle the sounds of their argument with my head shoved under the pillow.

I hoped that the room. This would be the only time I ever heard them argue so vehemently. Ordinarily, they were loving and affectionate towards one another, but after that, things only escalated from there. My mother became more depressed and refused to eat as much as she normally would. My father became more violent. Not physically, but he would yell and break me for everything and nothing at the same time. My mother wasn't excluded from this sort of treatment.

And, if anything, she received the worst of it. My father was only one inch from hitting her at one point, and he most likely would have had I not stepped in and intervened. I didn't like this change in our family dynamic. I just wanted it to all go back to how it always was. I didn't resent my unborn sibling for what happened, because I knew the fault did not lie with them. There was something else that had changed,

but it was something my six-year-old brain could not quite comprehend. Sometime later, when my mother was six months along, she was sleeping on the living room couch, and I was watching her. That's when I noticed that her stomach seemed to... Move. The baby was kicking, and I'd never seen it do that before. I didn't wake my mother up, so after carefully making my way to the couch, I sat down next to her and watched the activity my baby's belly as close as I could, without distal. disturbing her peace. I can't wait until you're out,

I whispered, followed by a small giggle. We can ride bikes and play hard in seek and tag, and we can play with my dolls, but I don't know if you're a boy or girl yet, so we'll have to wait and see if you even like dolls. Then, as if out of nowhere, a voice spoke back to me. I wouldn't mind playing dolls with you.

It was a child's voice, a boy, but it didn't sound right. There was something crawling under his tone, something I couldn't put a name on. I don't know what it was, and when I looked around the room for anyone else, I found none.

I turned back to the belly. Can you talk? I can. I didn't learn to talk until Lois 3. Can babies talk before they're out? No, but I can. How's that? I don't know, but I don't like it in here.

He continued, muffled by the barriers of my mother's womb. I want to get out. I think you all soon, I replied, trying to brighten his mood a little. I'm sure Mommy and Daddy will be happy as soon as you're here, with us. Then, he said something that made my childish fantasy come to an end. They won't be. Why is that? He didn't speak after.

after that, and when I tried to ask and pry him for more information, I woke up my mother, who chastised me for waking her up and sent me to my room so she could get some more rest. My father came home shortly after that, and I could hear them argue from the comfort of my room. Sometime after that, I spoke to my unborn brother again after my mother had lay down to take a routinely nap. So, you're going to become my brother? Yes, I decided that the man. gender would provide me more opportunities. Can babies decide if they want to become a boy or girl? No, but I can. How's that? You are a very curious child. My grandma says too. It's very

tenacious. What's that mean? It's a big word. Never mind, he said. You protected us, and for that, I owe you a debt. What's a debt? He was quite. He was quite. quiet for a couple of seconds before he spoke again. Once I'm out of this flesh prison I've been confined in, we can talk like normal people. But I like how we're talking now. It's just fine, I argued, not seeing the floor in my logic. You didn't believe I'd stay in here forever, did you?

No, but will you still talk when you're out of mommy's belly? It will... Take me some time to adjust, but I'll talk eventually. so I'll have to wait before we can talk again. Naturally, he said flatly. So, how come you're able to talk now before you even out? That doesn't make any sense. Few things make sense, child.

Least of all, me. You don't make any sense? How so? Because I'm not like you. Of course not. You're a boy, I exclaimed, reclining when I noticed my mother stirring in asleep. I didn't want to wake her up

because that meant my conversation with my sibling would have to continue on another note. That's not what I implied, he said, evidently grown tired of my lack of understanding. I'm not. Like you, I blinked in confusion. But mommy and daddy made you, so you have to be. Your mother did not procreate me

with your father, he is a barren one. You have to stop using so many big words, I shouted, frustrated, which ultimately woke my mother up. Thus, our conversation was ended. I didn't have another talk with him up until he was born. I remember being at the hospital after my mother had given birth, with my baby brother locked inside some kind of glass box. He was cute, and I stared at him with a smile on my mom. my face as I watched my baby brother sleep peacefully there. My mother, on the other hand,

was far from peaceful. I overheard the nurses saying that she refused to look at the infant, much less hold him after he was born. She was in hysterics, crying and yelling at my father as we visited after the delivery. The doctors had to sedate her in an effort to keep her from moving from the bed, as she was already in a fragile state as it was. Before we returned home, a couple of days later, I was allowed to hold the baby. He was heavy, but that was a given since I was just six years old. He was also quiet and didn't talk at all, but I didn't really mind it. I was fine with just looking at him.

When are you going to talk? I asked as I cradled him in my arms. When can we talk again? I miss talking to you. He didn't answer, but his eyes were on me. for the entire time. He had such silvery, bright eyes. I didn't think much of it at the time, but I later learned what was so strange about it. My eyes were blue,

and my mothers were green, and my father's eyes were brown. I initially thought that after the baby was born, things would go back to normal in our family. My mother and father would become the loving parents that they always were, and we could play together and have fun like we used to, No

Things became much Much worse from there My mother never recovered from the birth And she and my father would get into these constant fights That ended with broken furniture And shattered glass on the floor By then I was used to the fights But not exactly these kinds of fights

Whenever they argued I would just hold my brother in my arms And sing him a lullaby Trying to muff out the sound of the commotion outside our room. I hoped he would talk to me again, but he never did. Then one night,

everything changed, got to the sound of cries coming from my brother's room, and I quickly got up and went to investigate. And what I saw there would forever traumatize me. There was so much blood. My father laid in up all of it.

A gaping wound on his neck that could have only been created by a sharp, but a skew object. He was twisting slightly waylaid, but even I, a child just barely past first grade, knew that it was too late to do anything about it. I turned up to my brother's cradle

where I saw my mother standing with her back to me, a blooded piece of glass in her hand. She didn't seem to notice me, or she simply didn't care. My brother cried and screamed in the cradle, and I was about to jump and grab him, when I saw my mother slowly raised a blood-stained shard in a hand above my brother's head. I lunged at her faster than lightning and wrapped my arms around my mother's waist,

pulling her back with all my might. I was hardly a strong child, but the knowledge that my brother's life was in danger was enough to motivate my muscles to make some effort, and I succeeded. I managed to pull my mother back from the cradle by a few steps, but it wasn't much in the long run. Still, it was enough to hinder her,

for a short time. My mother fell to the floor on her back, dropping the shard and sending it away to the furthest corner of the room. Without a moment to lose, I picked my brother from the cradle and made a beeline for the door, but fell to the floor as my mother grabbed my ankle.

I softened the fall, and while my brother continued to wail, he was otherwise uninjured. I didn't get very far, inspecting him for further damage when my mother slowly crawled over me, her blooded hands searching frantically for the baby. Her eyes were wide and deranged.

She was a woman I no longer remembered as the sweet and nurturing mother I had what felt like so long ago. Give it to me, she shouted, trying desperately to reach the baby I held out of her reach. Give it to me, Ellie. Leave us alone, I yelled back, tears streaming down my eyes as my mind processed what a child should not have to understand.

Don't hurt my brother! It is an abomination, she snarled so saliva spilled out of her mouth. It wasn't supposed to be born. It doesn't belong in this world. Now, give it to me. But I wouldn't let her have it. In one final effort to get free, I kicked her as hard as I could into a stomach. It sent a falling back off of us.

And so I crawled back to my feet with a baby still in my arms and ran out of the house, screaming for help from anyone who would hear me. My neighbours heard my cries and let me inside. They called the police and CPS and investigated the house. I didn't know what happened, as all I cared about was having my brother saving my arms, safe from the world that wished to harm him. I later learned that they found my mother in the house, hanging from a noose, fashioned from a curtain in my brother's room.

After that, we were sent to live with her grandparents, and always as well as it could have been considering. I had from then on learned to grow up and care for myself and my brother. While our grandparents were there to support us through everything, I felt like I had a responsibility as my brother's older sister to step up to the plate. So I learned to cook, clean and take care of him. I learned it all before I was 16 and he was 10 years old. He could talk well by then, exceeding the vocabulary of a boy his age.

He was gifted too, and knew much that. that no one had ever even heard of. I was proud of him, and for a time, I forgot about the conversations we even had before he was even born. One day, however, I came across a letter hidden in my grandparents' study addressed to me by my mom. The memories came back to me, and not even ours with a therapist could ever hope to erase them completely from my brain.

Judging by the fact that there were bloodstains on it, I assumed that my mother had written in it the very same day she tried to kill us. My grandparents must have found it and kept it hidden from me all these years. And I don't blame them. Still, I read the letter. Dear Ellie, I'm sorry for what I've done to you, but I need you to understand something. I love you.

I always have. Your father and I tried for so long to have children, but I later learned that he could never hope to father a child. It was something I kept hidden from him all this time. He was a good man. I needed to remember that. Remember the father you grew up with and don't fault him for what happened. I did some things I'm not proud of,

and I let him believe that he was your biological father. It was selfish of me, but I tried to maintain the hope that he would love you as his own. And he did. We both loved you, and we always will. But your brother, the thing you claim is. is your brother. It's not like us. It is different, and I don't know the whereabouts of his creator. That thing was not made for this world. It does not belong here. It is a mistake, an

abomination. For a time, I try to go along with it, but the whispers, God, the whispers would never stop. It could talk, and the things it would say were horrible. I know you love it, and I've given you no reason to believe me, but you must kill it. I woke up with your father's blood of my hands because of it. Please, for the love of God, kill it. Your mother, by the end of the letter, my hands were trembling. Ellie? I snapped around and looked to my brother, standing there in the doorway.

His face, innocent of any fault. I didn't believe a single ounce of the letter. Not at all. but when I saw my brother standing there with a dead bird in his hands I heard my doubts What are you? I finally asked I've not receiving my answer

My brother merely shrugged I'm just not like you he said