CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My Uncle Disappeared into an Imaginary World of His Own Creation" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 10, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Jgrupe: 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►vasirah: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/e0...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-

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Since I was a kid, my great Uncle Ivan lived with us in our basement. He's a surrealist painter by trade, and his works are beautifully done, whimsical and thought-provoking oil masterpieces, worthy of being stared at for hours. Each time I look at one of his paintings, I find something new that I'd never noticed before. Uncle Ivan is the most talented artist I had ever met, and yet his work is not even known to the most. obscure collectors. I wonder sometimes if he'll be like Van Gogh, and nobody will know properly of his genius until after he's gone. When he had a stroke and lost the ability to speak,

he began painting obsessively, showing the world the beauty in his mind which would otherwise be lost without words. My parents built him a studio in the backyard for his 70th birthday. They have friends in construction and we have a large property in the country, so they built him a very big studio with high ceilings, knowing that he would find a way to utilise every inch available. And utilise he did. The walls were painted white with primer and then he set himself to work. Inside the massive space, he created another world. Within a year, his designs were out. outlined in black and white, with splashes of colour being applied in places.

Already, the overall effect was astonishing. It was like entering the surreal space of his own mind, an Alice in Wonderland world that sparked the imagination and resembled the uncanny landscape of dreams long forgotten. It was when the colours were completely filled in, that the illusion became complete. And one day, I went outside to his workspace in the backyard, to find that he had vanished.

He was gone, and I could make no sense of it. Uncle Ivan? I called out in the empty echoing studio, but he didn't answer. I gazed around in total wonderment at the huge room he had painted once again. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, alive with colours and images. I tried to find a spot of black and white. where he still had to feel in colour and could find none. The field of mushrooms with its gnome inhabitants was so real

it felt like I could step into it and join the merriment of the fairy folks living there. Purple cloud mountains rose up steeply to the left of that, a field of pink cherry blossom trees sloping downward on the other side towards a tumbling river the colour of cotton candy. This led into a sprawling desertscape, which started out in yellows, oranges and golds and faded softly into the greens and gentle blues of an ocean filled with kelp, octopus, jellyfish, and a myriad of other fantastical aquatic creatures.

Gasping, I realized the room was finally complete. My heart thumped in my chest as I thought about what this meant. This had been my Uncle Ivan's life for the past several years. Now it was finished and he could have been revelling in his masterpiece. I thought he would have at least come to find me to show me that it was done. He knew I was his biggest fan after all. Where was he? The man was a total recluse, a hermit. He never left the property, no matter what, and often spent days straight in his studio working on the all-encompassing mural. I walked around a fantastical space, becoming lost in the swirling colors and dreamlike images. Even the floors were painted, making it feel like you were completely immersed in the beautiful

fantasy world my uncle had made. A sound of birds chirping came from nearby, and I looked up with surprise, wondering how they could have gotten into the workshop. When I gazed up and looked around, my heart skipped a beat. and then another. My knees buckled and I sat down hard, my jaw snapping shut with the impact. Due moist grass was beneath me, despite never having left the studio. Strangely, the grass was crimson red, the color of fresh blood.

Insects I didn't recognize were scurrying in it, crawling up my arm. They were colorful and otherworldly, leaving rainbow patterned footprints in their wake. The field of towering mushrooms stood in front of me, and he was actually there. It wasn't just an illusion of perspective and artistic mastery anymore. I could feel the fresh air of my face and heard birds chirping all around me. There was the sound of a flute playing in the distance ahead, and gnomes were dancing merrily and singing beneath the shade of mushroom-capped roofs. Purple clouds floated in the sky.

and a giant eyeball looked down at me like the moon, winking when it saw me. Too scared to scream, I began breathing heavily. Terrified, my eyes started the search for an exit, but found no way out. It's beautiful here, isn't it? I've always asked for a nearby. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't place where I'd heard it before. I thought you'd like it. My great Uncle Ivan said, reaching out his hand to help me to my feet.

Most people didn't understand what I was doing out here, but I could see that you got it from the very beginning. You knew what the purpose of it all was. Standing to my feet, my terror began to evaporate, and I felt a smile spread across my face, despite the surreal situation I'd found myself in. Uncle Ivan, you can talk. It had been so many years since I heard the old man's voice.

I'd forgotten what it sounded like. I can, he said, looking pleased. At least while I'm here. But that's always been the case. Come on, let's go for a walk. We started ambling towards the mushroom village up ahead. The music of lutes and flutes and drums became louder. The gentle tones of singing voices rising up to greet us.

I miss talking to you, Uncle Ler. Ivan, I said after a minute of silent walking. That's funny. We haven't really said anything yet. We both chuckled at that. Well, it's hard to find someone you're just as comfortable being quite around as you are talking. And to be honest, I'm not really sure what to say after seeing all this. How long have you been coming to this place? Off and on for about a year.

It was more off than on at first. Every time I came across a patch of black and white. it brought me out of it again, but the more I filled in, the longer I got to stay. I thought about this for a minute. It's all the way filled in now. Does that mean...

Before I could finish my thought, he interrupted, pointing up at the sky and putting his arm around me. Look, Jordan, it's the spectral dragon. That's what I've been calling it anyway. A creature came up

over the purple cloud mountains like the sunrise, and then came crashing down on the hills towards us, sending a flurry of cherry blossoms fluttering into the air like butterflies. The dragon reminded me of a kaleidoscope as it morphed into every colour of the rainbow, before rising up on an air current at the last possible moment, narrowly avoiding crashing into the mushroom forest below. Its long snaking body extended for miles and was soon lost above us in the clouds. A few moments later, the skyward cherry blossoms fell around us like snow, and continued in that way for a while afterwards, until the ground was pink with them. We kicked them up into the air with our feet as we walked, like fallen leaves in autumn.

The gnomes didn't even interrupt their song, as if such things were an everyday occurrence, and I realized they probably were. "'This place is incredible,' I said. "'No wonder you've been spending so much time out here.' Uncle Ivan was smiling and nodding, seeing that I understood him even more now. But there was something off about him. He had lost weight. His face looked skeletal and thin.

The change had been so slow I barely noticed since I came out to his workshop pretty much every day. but he previously had chubby cheeks and a belly which overhung his belt. Now those things were gone, and he appeared gaunt and pale. Come on, I'll show you my house, he said, laughing and taking my hand. Your house? He led me up the slope towards the mushroom village. The stalks of the fungi had windows and doors carved into them with care,

and the quaint community reminded me of the downtown of a small medieval, village. There were rustic shops with tables out front, a blacksmith and a market stall with fruits and vegetables. Nomes were going about their lives in harmony and happiness. In here, Uncle Ivan said, opening the squeaky door at the base of one mushroom. He ducked his head and went inside through the low entryway and I followed after him. Once inside, I saw a tastefully decorated room with furnishings in purple, orange and gold. There was no indication we were inside a mushroom. It just looked like a regular house, only circular instead of square.

He went over to a large cabinet and began to pull things from his pockets, shoving them inside the drawers. Just a minute, let me get organized, Uncle Ivan said. He took a large horn beetle from one pocket of his bathrobe and stuffed it into a drawer. then started searching through the other drawers for something. I saw a purple octopus poke his head out of one and he crammed it back inside. Another drawer sounded like it contained a swarm of bees, while another made a sound like a train whistle and the roar of a locomotive coming down the tracks.

Uncle Ivan slammed that one shook quickly as the chugging, rattling noise of an approaching train became so loud it threatened to burst an eardrum. He breathed a sigh of relief, then open the bottom drawer, retrieved a polka dot umbrella and unfurled it. A dozen or so frogs fell out from the folds and began hopping around on the floor. But he ignored them. Okay, all set. How about some breakfast? The two of us set out on the town and met gnomes on the way to a tea shop. They were singing Uncle Ivan's praises, literally.

They had written several songs about him. Moe seemed to proclaim him as a savior and a hero, vanquishing an evil enemy which came in the night. What's with the creepy songs? I asked him as we took a seat at a table outside the tea shop. They kept talking about a monster coming in the night? That's not real, is it? I mean, I thought this place was all about peace and beauty. You can't have good without evil, my uncle Ivan said.

raising his hand to call over a known waiter, Yin and Yang, you need one to have the other. This place couldn't be what it is without an evil underbelly. For heaven to exist, there must be hell after all. Our waiter quickly poured our tea, then hustled away, his eyes fearful and his hands shaking as he overheard our conversation. Another member of the waitstaff brought a platter of biscuits and cakes, then hurried off as well, looking similar.

fairly frightened by the subjects we were talking about. Does it always come at night? The monster in the songs? Always. But it's okay. I know how to take care of it. I always protect the villagers here. They need me to protect them.

I am their saviour. His eyes looked to be gazing far into the distance past me. And I was suddenly worried again for my Uncle Ivan. I took a sip of the tea, but it did not quench my thirst. I ate one of the cookies as well, but felt no less hungry afterwards. My uncle ignored all the items in front of us, choosing instead to stare off in the distance, and once again I remarked to myself how thin he looked, how unwell.

Despite the beauty of his creation, despite the absolutely unremarkable nature of it all, I was suddenly feeling scared. not just for my uncle, but for me. I wanted to go home, I wanted to get out of this place. Opening my mouth to speak these thoughts aloud, it suddenly grew dark in the mushroom village and the surrounding fungi forest. A huge black cloud filled with booming thunder

was rolling over us and rain began to pour down, drenching us immediately. Nomes ran into their houses and slammed the doors and windows closed. Open signs were pulled down from shop windows, and one saying closed replaced them. And yet still, my Uncle Ivan stared off into the distance. Uncle Ivan, I said, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing it. Uncle Ivan, are you there?

My heart started pounding faster as his glazed eyes remained fixed on some invisible object in the distance. For a second, I thought he would stay like that forever. but then he blinked and focused on me again. Oh, sorry, I must have been lost to my thoughts. He looked around and saw the darkness and the rain and stood up quickly. Dear, oh dear, we should go. Quickly now. Come on, let's go back to the house before it's too late.

I thought at first he was talking about going back to the real world and nearly jumped for joy. I followed after him in the pounding rain and splash through mud puddle. as he led me back to his safe house inside the mushroom. It was only once ruined side that I heard the sounds coming from nearby, growing louder and more distinct. It sounded like the floor-shaking approach of a bear or a lion stalking towards us. My uncle grabbed a large wooden plank from behind the couch and brought it over to the door quickly, his eyes wide and fearful.

Help me with this, quickly. They'll be here any second. I hesitated, feeling as if something about this was wrong. But then my fear overtook, and I grabbed the other end of the wooden board and helped him laid across the doorway, barricading it. A second later, the door began to pound and shake as something tried to force its way in from outside. It sounded like claws raking across the wood as the thing roared and banged against the entry with all its might.

What the hell is that thing? I asked my uncle. He was too busy to answer, searching through his large dresser with his countless tiny drawers. Where is it? Where is it? He shouted, pulling one open after another.

It has to be here. It has to be. I ran over to him, looking back over my shoulder at the door as it nearly broken too with the repeated impacts from outside. Now it sounded like not just one creature, but several.

Their claws tearing through the wood like paper. Uncle Ivan, we have to get out of here. They're going to get us. As he pulled open one drawer after another, I saw horrors inside each that I would never forget. The dresser had been full of fun and whimsical items from what I'd seen before, but now every drawer he opened had a nightmare inside. A hudded figure reached out with a skeletal arm, a scy thigh gripped in his bony fist. My uncle slammed the drawer shut before I could emerge. The next had a freakish monster with bulging eyes and squid-like tentacles, which snapped in the air and hissed with a beaked mouth full of many sharp teeth. He closed that drawer hastily as well.

The door we had barricaded shut began to splinter, and I could see forms through the growing cracks in the wood. It seemed as if one more impact would break it open, and we would be murdered by whatever came inside to greet us. All darkness, fangs and claws by the large. looks of it. My uncle finally found what he was looking for and pulled it out from the dresser drawer, shouting in triumph. Yes, I found it. Let's get the hell out of here. It was a paintbrush and a palette. He began to paint a picture on the wall beside him, working so quickly it didn't seem possible. A few moments after he had begun, there was a beautiful doorway with a blue sky and sunshine. There were trees and green grassy fields rolling into the distance.

Come on, through here, he said, grabbing my arm. I didn't move though. Something about all of this was wrong, I thought to myself again. Uncle Ivan needed my help, and this wasn't the way to help him. Escaping further into his fantasy world, going one step deeper into this dimension, or whatever this was, was not going to help him. I studied his bony face and looked at his thin, frail hand reaching out to take mine. Come on, what are you waiting for? He asked, looking terrified, checking over my shoulder for the next impact from outside. This isn't the way, Uncle Ivan, I said, realizing what I meant when I said it.

That's not the way home. And I need to take you home. You need to eat and drink and you need to get out of this place for a little while. You can't survive here. You can't live inside this world you created or it'll kill you. What? No, I can't leave. This is my home now. I need to protect it. The door splintered further with another loud bang as the dark forms forced their weight against the threshold. Do you know what's on the other side of that door, Uncle Ivan? Have you ever waited to see what will come through? Or do you just escape further into your fantasies and run away every time?

He hesitated, looking as if he might just jump through the doorway without me, escaping into that other world never to be seen again. But then he turned to look at me and led out of deep, shuddering breath. No, I've always run away from it. I suppose I should look at it though, shouldn't I? We all need to face our fears sometimes, Uncle Ivan, I said, taking his hand. We'll face it together. whatever it is.

He gripped my hand tightly, and we stood waiting for our demise, or for whatever would come next. With a loud crash, the door broke open, and dark forms in the shape of every alpha predator began to squeeze through, looking like oversized, nightmarish images of their true selves, shadowy bodies with no discernible features except for their teeth. Their teeth, which were too long and too sharp, gleam. gleaming white. As they closed in on us, I focused on that lack of colour and remembered those blank spots in the

mural. I thought about home. I braced for the impact and for the teeth which would tear me to shreds. But they never came. When I opened my eyes and looked up, I saw a wall in front of me with a wolf painted in black black and white. It hadn't been filled in yet. A ray of sunshine was peeking in through the doorway which led outside and I could hear birds chirping out there. We were back in my great-uncle studio again and he was beside me holding my hand, squeezing it very tightly. Both of us let go

at the same time, looking at each other and feeling slightly embarrassed for some reason, as if what had just happened hadn't really happened. Looks like you missed the spot after all, I said to my uncle. He looked back at me and I saw tears in his eyes. He wanted to say something back but couldn't. Instead, he picked up his paintbrush which was sitting nearby with a palette. Various colours were on the board, waiting to be chosen to fill in the empty spots to make the mural really, truly complete.

My uncle went over to the spot with his paintbrush in hand, looking ready to fill in the emptiness. As he picked up the brush, his hand started to shake. Maybe from hunger, maybe from something else. I laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Why don't you take a break for a little while, Uncle Ivan? Let's go inside and grab a bite to eat. The mural will still be here tomorrow. He turned to look at me and smiled.

Then set the paintbrush and pall it down on the floor. Putting his arm around my shoulder, the two of us walked out from the paint fumes and into the fresh air of the backyard. You know, I said, I was kind of bummed out when I thought the mural was finished. This project has been such a big part of both our lives the last few years. Maybe you should just leave that one spot blank, like a signature. A reminder of all the time and effort you put in here in the real world. He nodded, his eyes focused and lucid for the first time since I'd seen him that day.

Uncle Ivan pointed at a large mountain off in the distance. It took me a second to understand. But I'd always been able to see what he meant in these muted moments. And I did then, too. Yeah, like a landmark, so no matter what, you can always find your way home.