CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My Wife and I Moved into an Old Farmhouse. The Basement is Possessed" Creepypasta

Episode Date: April 27, 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►Jakub Bazyluk: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/v1...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-

Well, that's the last of it, I said, breathing a sigh and collapsing on the couch. I am officially toast. I just finished hauling the last couple of boxes into the house from the moving truck. Stacks of them were piled throughout the living room, making a corrugated fortress around me. Unpacking would be another long adventure, but at least we had finally gotten all of our belongings into the farmhouse so that we could begin the process of starting our new life here. As I lay in the couch, relaxing momentarily, the hairs began to stand up on the back of my neck. I started to get a strong sense that I was being watched, specifically from the door beneath the stairs, leading to the basement.

It creaked open slowly, just a crack as I observed it back. I closed my eyes, ignoring that paranoid feeling. There was no one else in the house except for us. therefore nobody was watching me it was just my imagination yet still every time i turned away i felt a tingling and saw a vague shadow in that direction just barely visible in my peripherals there was also a feeling of a presence that i could not ignore the door to the basement yawned open wider as if inviting me in darkness peered out blacker than a midnight grave yard. Standing up on shaking legs and began to walk over to the door, thinking a draft from the basement was blowing it open. I didn't like the feeling of it being ajar. Don't ask me why, but I just didn't like it. As I drew closer, the sensation of eyes watching me became even

more powerful, as if I was drawing closer to a predator and my body was telling me to turn away and run. That darkness was too much for me to look at, so I turned my eyes away briefly. But that made the feeling even worse. I couldn't help thinking that if something jumped out from the doorway, I wouldn't see it until it was too late. So I looked back again, forced myself to focus my attention on the eerie blackness.

When I returned my gaze to the doorway, I could have sworn I saw eyes looking back at me from the darkness. for a brief instant, so quick it could have been passed off as a trick of the light. But it made my heart skip a beat nonetheless. I slammed the door shut so hard, it shook the house and my wife yelled at me to be more gentle with the old place. Heading into the kitchen, my heart thumping in my chest, and I told Christine what had happened. What do you mean you saw eyes down there? There was somebody in the basement.

We need to call the cops? Hang on, hang on. I was trying to decide if my overtide brain had imagined it. I thought I'd seen something, but the more I considered it, the less likely it seemed. It could have been my eyes playing tricks for me. I grab a flashlight and take a look. No, you can't.

It's too dangerous. The place was locked up right, so it couldn't have been a person down there. I was probably imagining things, but I'll take a look just to be safe. Are you sure about this? Maybe we should call the police and have them check it out. It'll take them an hour just to get here.

We're not in the city anymore, remember? Besides, there's no way anybody could have gotten in here since the owners left. Not unless they had a key. Just let me take a look, okay? Christine reluctantly agreed and took out a phone, dialing 911 and getting ready to hit send in case anything happened. I found a flashlight in one of the boxes marked camera. and opened the basement door.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I began to descend. Proceeding down the rickety steps, the beam of light showed multitudes of dust motes and particles floating in the air, being kicked up by my movements. Ancient wooden stairs creaked beneath my feet with each step I took,

going down and down, deeper beneath the ground. As I did, the feeling returned again, the sensation of something watching me, that unpleasant feeling began to grow and blossom into the worst fear I'd ever experienced in my life as I set my foot down on the dirt-packed floor off the lower level. The old farmhouse had an ancient relic of a basement, I realised.

Since we'd moved from a long ways away, we hadn't seen the place in person. This was the first time I'd been down there. The owners had chosen not to include pictures of the basement in their ad and I was beginning to understand why. Shining my light around, I saw there were old pieces of leather and ragged strips of wire,

rope and twine, hanging from the ceiling's crossbeams. Crude wooden crosses assembled from broken sticks and small logs hung suspended from these, turning and swaying gently, despite the lack of breeze down in the basement. I felt a presence behind me suddenly and spun around, the air turning up.

ice cold. For a moment I thought I saw a dark shadow shape similar to a person, but there was no one standing there. Every part of me wanted to get out to there, but I knew I had to make sure the basement was empty.

I showed my flashlight into every corner and every hiding space making sure it was unoccupied. Surely enough, it was. But I did find something. There, There was a black box in a stone alcove, surrounding by inscriptions carved directly into

the foundations of the house. The strange shrine resembled something from a church or a temple, but it appeared darker somehow. Evil. A chill ran through my bones which seemed to emanate from the stone. Unlit candles and strange black statues surrounding the box sitting dead center, the focal piece of this creepy, unholy altar. I don't remember taking the box upstairs with me, but nonetheless I found myself back on the main level, holding it in my hands. It looked curious and ancient.

The feeling of someone watching remained, accompanied by an old chill which ran through my bones, almost like the temperature in the house had gone down by 10 degrees. There's nobody down there, I told Christine, who's waiting for me at the top of the stairs? But I found this weird box and all these things. These crosses were hanging from the ceiling. It's creepy. You need to get rid of that thing, she said, holding up her hands to cover her eyes from even looking at it. I hate it.

There's something wrong with it. Really? What do you want me to do with it? I asked. It's just a mold box. Probably somebody's keepsakes. I don't care. Put it outside and send it away with the trash on pickup day.

Just get rid of it. Christine never acted this way. She didn't believe in superstition or curses. She was a self-proclaimed atheist, in fact. But the way she was acting was enough to convince me she was serious. So I didn't argue. Okay, I'll put it outside, I said. I brought it out with me into the front yard and tried to decide where to put it.

I settled on leaving it in the back of the moving truck. In the glow of the lights inside the back of the moving van, I took a moment to take a closer look at the box. It was ice-cold to the touch, I realised. The surface of it was slick and black, like polished marble. But when I took my hands away, it smudged off like charcoal. There were archaic symbols carved into it, and a lock held it shut from the front. I found myself trying to open it, but was unable to.

Distantly, I heard something whispering to me. its voice insistent and raspy But I dismissed that as just a wind and nothing more Eventually I gave up on the box's lock and went inside My wife looked startled when I walked in the front door What were you doing out there? I thought you'd come to bed You're out there with that creepy box for over an hour No I started to disagree with her

But then I looked at my watch and realised She was right Unsure what to say, I told her I was tired and must have zoned out. I needed to get some sleep. Trudging up the stairs to the bedroom, I collapsed on the unmade mattress and drifted off into a deep slumber. As I slept, my dreams were filled with that dark feeling of being observed, as if eyes were watching me closely from the corner of the bedroom, in the shadows. When I awoke it was still dark outside

I looked around the pitch black room feeling uneasy I saw unfamiliar shapes and shadows I didn't recognize that feeling of being watched and returned tenfold and I felt a presence observing me from the corner where a man-shaped shadow stood running over to the door I went to turn on the light switch I flicked it to the on position but the lights didn't turn on the room remained stubbornly dark.

My heart was pounding as I felt that presence staring at me in the room. I wanted more than anything to turn on the lights, but they wouldn't go on. For some reason, I found myself going back to bed instead of fleeing the room, terrified as I was. I found myself lying back down in bed, tucking myself back under the covers and staring at the thing in the corner as it watched me. A dark, unrecognizable shape in the corner of the bedroom began to move towards me. The shadow shape of a person reaching out for me, coming for me.

I tried to move but found myself paralysed and unable. I tried to scream, but couldn't. I woke up panting, covered in sweat, and realised I had dreamt the whole thing. The shape in the corner had revealed itself in the morning. morning light, and I saw it was, in fact, I stack of boxes with coats draped over the top of it. It was barely sunrise outside, and Christine was in bed next to me. She bolted upright, looking startled, and asked what had happened. I had a horrible dream.

It felt surreal. You know there's waking nightmares when you feel as if you were up and walking around after being asleep, only to realize that you were out the whole time? My wife didn't answer. her eyes were fixed on something across the room. She was looking at the dresser and a jaw was hanging down. What is that thing doing here? I told you to get rid of it and you brought it up here and opened it instead.

She was pointing at something and I followed a gaze to see the black box from the basement was on the bureau. It was open but I had no memory of doing that. What the hell? I didn't do that and I definitely didn't open it. did I? You're telling me you don't remember bringing that box in here and opening it? No, and it was locked.

I couldn't have opened it. Just get it out of here. I don't want to lock it anymore, okay? Bring it to the dump or something. Just get it out of the house and far away from here. I went over to the dresser and saw the open box was filled with strange items. A lock of hair, a charred piece of clothing, a cross and other burnt pieces. A lock of hair, a charred piece of clothing.

clothing across and other burnt pieces. There was a powerful odour coming from it as well, and like anything I'd ever come across. The stench wasn't pleasant and burnt my nostrils as I drew closer. This is impossible. I know I didn't bring this in here. It's cursed or something. Just get it out of the house, please. My wife was more upset than I'd ever seen her, so I put on my clothes and took the box out of the car with me.

I didn't know where the local dump was exactly, but I figured I would go look for it. As I near the town, I saw an antique shop at the side of the road and pulled over on a whim. I wondered if the owner would be interested in taking the box off my hands, or if you could at least tell me what it was. The bell above the door rang as I entered, and a man came out from the back room, polishing a brass candelabra with a rag. Good morning. He said in a friendly voice, How can I help? He stopped speaking abruptly when he saw what was in my hands.

The candelabra fell to the floor with a loud clang, and he began to visibly shake as he raised a finger to point to the box. Do you recognise this? I asked. Where did you get that thing? We just moved in up the road, my wife and I. He was in the basement of the old farmhouse of the street. I moved towards him with my handout. to shake his hand and saw that my fingers were smudged black with the box's darkness.

He backed away, slamming into the wall behind him, and sending a frame photo crashing to the floor. The glass shattering loudly. Don't touch me. Don't touch anything. Just get out. Get out and put that thing back where you found it. If you do anything else with it, you'll never get your life back. You should never have taken it from his resting place. You should have never come here.

I backed away from him, terrified even before. more than before, especially now that I knew others were aware of the dark powers this box contained. Whatever it was, it was not meant to be moved. Its resting place was of extreme importance. Maybe that was why the house had been so cheap. It came with a cursed basement. The man began to throw things at me, shouting in a foreign language I didn't recognize, then speaking harshly in English, telling me to leave and never come back. He spoke in prayer-like incantations and made the sign of the cross over and over again. I stumbled out to my car and started the engine, driving back towards the farmhouse, wishing we'd never purchased the place.

When I pulled up outside the farmhouse, I tried to decide what to say to my wife. How would I explain to her that the box couldn't be moved? Maybe if we just left it in the basement, the presents would leave us alone. I decided I would just try to sneak it in and put it back in the basement without a noticing. I would explain it to her later, or at least try to. The important thing now seemed to be to return it to its proper place before something really terrible happened. Going back inside the house quietly, I closed the front door behind me as softly as I could and glanced up the stairs. The light was off in the bedroom, so I assumed Christine would still be up there.

I went to the basement door and opened it quietly, being careful not to make too much noise in case Christine had gone back to sleep again upstairs. I began heading down into the darkness beneath the house. I was holding the box carefully in my hands, like a life bomb, since I wasn't sure what would happen if I dropped it or did anything wrong. Each creaking stare made my heart hammer faster as I trot down towards the dirt floor of the basement. Finally, I set foot down there and looked around, seeing only shadows. The light from upstairs was dim, and was the only source I had to see by.

My phone was in my pocket, and I kept it there, thinking I would only be down there for a few moments. Walking across a blackened space towards the alcove which had housed the black box, I began to feel watched again. It was only then that I noticed that sensation had been gone for a while, as I drove to the antique store and back again whatever had been in the box watching me it had not stayed inside after the thing had opened it had stayed in the house

with my wife a loud bang came from the top of the stairs and the entire basement went completely pitch black in an instant I realised the door had slammed shut and I figured Christine had closed it Maybe she didn't realize I was home. I began to fumble for the cell phone in my pocket, needing a bit of light to feel safe down in the terrifying basement.

But before I could grab it, something attacked me. The shrieking wail it made was inhuman and full of rage. It swiped at me with sharp claws in the darkness as I rolled and ducked away from it, trying to escape. I threw the box down to the floor, hoping to get away. As I got up, I hit my head and a dangling wooden cross, and nearly got wrapped up in the twine which suspended it from the ceiling.

Stumbling, I tried to find my way to the stairs, screaming for my wife to help me. She didn't answer. A moment later, the thing came at me again. It was fast, but thin, and just a bit weaker than me, despite its anger. I managed to grab its wrists and pushed it up against the wall, then tripped it to the floor. I ran up the stairs, stumbling on the steps and scraping my shins, bloodying them badly.

Just as I reached the top, the thing came at me again. It was relentless. Screaming ancient curses with spittle flying in my face, it swiped to my eyes and got one of them blinding me. The door was just behind me, so I flung it open and shoved the thing away from me. And as the light from the main level came flooding in through the open door, I saw what had been attacking me. My wife tumbled down the steps, cracking a head against the wall on the way down,

then falling lifelessly to the dirt floor of the basement below. I took a few shaky steps down the stairs, looking to confirm if my eyes had deceived me. But they had not. The thing in the box had stayed behind when I left, and it possessed my wife, driving it down into the darkness of its life. where it felt most at home. As I stood there, staring at a lifeless body, I saw her begin to twitch. Her fingers began to drum up and down.

Then her head began to rock and make a loud smacking sound as a forehead impacted the basement floor again and again, hard. Christine? I called down the stairs. Stop, stop, please. She continued the same. self-destructive behavior, smashing a skull hard against the dirt floor. I began to take a shaky step down to stop her, but then hesitated. That thing was still inside of her.

It wasn't safe, and yet I couldn't just let her keep hurting herself like that. The meaty sound repeated again and again as I screamed for her to stop. But she wouldn't. But I wouldn't go down there again, and eventually the thing inside of her really. that. Come, save me, honey, she said in a droning beehive voice. I need you. No. I just stood at the top of the stairs, waiting. My wife appeared to have broken a few limbs during her fall, but that didn't stop her from moving quickly. Sickening sounds of bone crunching could be heard from up the stairs as she got to her feet, her one ankle failing so that she rested a weight on the

the splintered knob of a tibia rather than on her foot. Whatever was inside of her felt no pain, but looked agonizing to me. She began to shuffle over the wooden stairs without warning, moving faster than I thought possible, crap-like and inhuman on four legs. It looked like she wouldn't be able to make it on a fractured bones, and yet she moved like a restless insect, her other limbs making up for the deficit of the lost one. Using her arms like additional legs, she began to crawl towards me up the stairs, her fingernails digging into the splintered wooden stairs and breaking off as she raced faster and faster, gaining momentum. I realized that the last second that I had been paralyzed with terror and threw the door

shot, just as she slammed into it with a shuddering bank that rattled the upstairs windows in their frames. There was no lock on the door, and I could do nothing except hold it closed with all the way to my body. She doesn't relent for a second, turning the knob constantly, pressing with all of her strength on the door as I grip my teeth and fight against the weight. I'm sitting here still, with my back pressed up against the door, my feet wedged against the opposing wall with all the force I can muster.

When I finish getting this out, I don't know what I'll do. Maybe I'll try the police and see what they say. My biggest concern is that they'll want to let her out She'll probably pretend to be normal when they arrive She'll pretend I'm insane That I attacked her But I know that's not her It's the thing from the basement

The thing from the black box Whatever it is She can't be allowed to bring it back to the surface It was locked down in that basement For a reason And that's where It needs to stay