CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "My Wife Hasn’t Blinked in Three Days" Creepypasta

Episode Date: February 15, 2025

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Frequent-Cat:   / my_wife_hasnt_blinked_in_three_days  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...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / 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

Emily and I had been talking about leaving the city for years, but for a long time it was just talk. The idea of it, the fantasy, was always easier than the reality. Work, schedules, expenses, there was always something keeping us in place. But then Emily's job went fully remote and my company downsized, leaving me with a severance package and more free time than I knew what to do. do with. The noise of the city, the weight of routine, it all started feeling suffocating. Emily was the one who found the listing. Look at this, she had said one evening, laptop balanced on her knees. It's perfect. I leaned over a shoulder, expecting some overpriced cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Instead, I saw an old two-story house with deep green shutters and a wraparound porch, nestled right at the edge of a vast, untouched forest, the kind of place you'd see in an old postcard. I laughed. That looks like the beginning of a horror movie, she grinned, or the beginning of something good. Emily had always loved the woods. When she was a kid, she used to disappear into them for hours, coming back with twigs in her hair and stories about deer that let her get too close, birds that seemed to follow her. She always said there was something different about being deep in nature,

something bigger than her, but strangely familiar. I had never really understood it, but I loved how much she loved it. And maybe I needed a change too. So, we packed up, left behind the noise, and moved to the quietest place we could find. Our new home was old, but it had character. Solid wooden beams, a deep front porch, ivy climbing up the stone walls. It sat at the very edge of town, where the paved roads turned to dirt, where the streetlights thinned and finally disappeared.

It was the kind of place. where time felt slower, with the days stretched long, where the forest pressed in on all sides like a living thing. Emily loved it immediately. She spent the first evening sitting on the porch, wrapped in an old sweater, watching the sun set over the tree line with a quiet sort of happiness I hadn't seen in years. But something about the house, the land around it, felt too still. I couldn't explain it, and for a moment I wished we weren't so alone out here.

It wasn't the vastness of the trees that unsettled me. It was how quiet they were. I grew up in the suburbs, but even I knew what the woods was supposed to sound like. The rustling of leaves in the wind, the occasional snap of branch underfoot, birds calling to each other from the canopy. But here, nothing, not even the buzz of insects. The trees stood motionless, their leaves perfectly still in the heavy summer air. The sky was overcast, thick with the kind of clouds that seemed to press down on you. But there was no breeze, not even the faintest shift of air.

I hadn't realised how much I relied on background noise. until there was none. I glanced at Emily, expecting her to notice it too, but she just smiled, stretching her legs out and sipping her tea like nothing was wrong. It's perfect, she murmured. It didn't feel perfect to me, and I wasn't the only one who thought so. Murphy, our dog, had been exploring the yard when we arrived, sniffing at the porch steps, trotting through the lot.

long grass, but the moment he got close to the trees. He stopped. His ears flattened, his tail, which had been wagging all afternoon, slowly lowered between his legs. Then, he backed away. Emily clicked a tongue, trying to coax him forward. What's wrong, buddy? Murphy whined low in his throat and turned, trotting back toward the house with his tail tucked tight against his body.

I let out a small laugh shaking my head. Maybe he's just not used to all the space, but that wasn't it. I had never seen him act like that before. Emily just sighed, shaking her head. He'll get used to it. Then she turned back to the forest. And I swear, just for a second, the tree shifted. Not in the wind. There was no wind.

But something moved, deep, in the dark. Emily had always been independent, but something about the woods unsettled me. We'd been in the house for less than a week when she told me she wanted to explore the nearby trails. Are you sure you want to go there alone? I'd said, watching her lace up her boots. She smiled, adjusting the strap and a pair of her. pack. It'll be fine. I just want to get a feel for the area first. A feeling in my gut twisted. Just don't go too far. She kissed my cheek and was gone before I could say anything else.

By early afternoon, I expected her coming back. By late afternoon, I checked my phone, scrolling absently through messages, waiting for a text that never came. By early evening, I started to worry. I stood on the porch, scanning the trees. The sun had already started dipping below the horizon, drenching the woods in a deep orange glow. Still, no sign of her. I told myself she probably lost track of time, that she'd be fine. But that feeling, the one I had since we moved in, settled deeper into my church.

and then, just as I reached for my car keys to go looking for her, I saw her coming out of the woods. I knew immediately that something was wrong. She moved too slowly, as if walking was an afterthought. Her skin looked pale, like she'd been out in the cold for hours, but her forehead glistened with sweat. Her clothes were dirt streaked, her sleeves damp and darkened, but there was no sign that she had fallen. And her boots. Her boots were wet. It hadn't rained in days.

I stepped forward, feeling my pulse pick up. Where the hell were you? I was about to go looking for you. Emily looked at me like she had just registered I was there. I think I got turned around. She sounded dazed like she had just woken. up from a dream. I frowned. You got lost? A pause. Then too slowly, she nodded. Yeah, I think so. She stepped past me and onto the porch, heading inside without another word. I hesitated before following.

Something was off. She wasn't acting scared, embarrassed or frustrated. just plank, like she wasn't entirely there. That night, Murphy refused to go near her. I had been sitting on the couch when he suddenly stopped in the middle of the room, his ears flattening against this head. His eyes locked onto Emily, who was standing in the kitchen, refilling her water bottle. Then, he growled.

A low, rumbling sound, I'd never. never heard from him before. Emily glanced over, frowning. What's wrong with him? I open my mouth to answer. But before I could, Murphy backed away. Not ran, not bolted in panic, just, backed away. Slowly, carefully.

His entire body rigid, tail tucked between his legs, ears pinned back like he'd just encountered a predator. Then he turned and darted into the hallway, disappearing under the couch. Emily laughed, but something about it felt off. Maybe he just doesn't recognize me in my hiking gear, but she wasn't wearing her hiking gear anymore, and I'd never seen Murphy afraid of anything before. It started as a whisper of unease, the kind you feel in your gut before, before your brain, can explain it. Emily was the same but not. And maybe that's why it unnerved me so much,

because the changes were subtle enough to make me doubt myself, but noticeable enough, that I couldn't ignore them. It was a morning like any other. I was making coffee, half asleep, while Emily sat across from me at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of yogurt. She was scrolling through her phone, a spoon moving mechanically from bowl to mouth. I don't know what made me notice it, but as I took a sip of coffee, something felt wrong. Emily's eyes, they were locked on a screen, unmoving, too still. I watched her between sips, waiting for her to blink. She didn't. I shifted in my seat, my pulse kicking up a notch. Maybe I wasn't paying close enough attention.

Maybe I was imagining things. So, I leaned forward, watching harder. Nothing, I felt my stomach twist. 30 seconds, a full minute, too. Still, her eyes stayed open, glassy, reflecting the blue. blue glow of her phone screen. Did you sleep okay? I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

She looked up at me, a slow, lazy smile curling at her lips. Yeah, why? I stared at her, my heartbeat thudding in my ears. Still, no blink. I forced the chuckle, shaking my head. No reason. She held my gaze a little too long before turning back to her phone. The air felt heavy in my chest.

I waited again, and still, she didn't blink. On top of this, Emily had always been graceful, the kind of person who moved without thinking, quick, fluid, comfortable in her own skin. But now, it was like she was adjusting to her. to herself. I noticed it one night when she got into bed. She lifted the covers sliding beneath them, but then stopped. Her hand hovered in mid-air, fingers curled like she was about to grasp the blanket, but she just froze. Her breathing didn't change. She didn't react, she didn't flinch.

She just stayed like that, mid-motion, as if she had forgotten the next step. step. A second passed, then too. I was about to say something to shake her when she finally moved again. Smooth, slow, like nothing had happened. I didn't sleep well that night. The morning air was biting, crisp enough to see my breath in little white clouds as I stood on the porch, sipping my coffee. The ground was damp with frost, the sky overcast with heavy and low grey clouds. Emily stepped outside barefoot. I winced as her foot hit the cold wooden floorboards.

She took a deep breath, stretching her arms above her head, staring out into the woods like she belonged to them. I wrapped my flannel tighter around me. Jesus M, aren't you freezing? She let her arms fall back to her side, tilting her head slightly, as if considering the question. Then she smiled. No, she turned back to the trees, the wind lifting her hair. I watched her arms, waiting for the telltale bumps of goose flesh to rise on her skin.

They never did. and as I watched I realized something else her breath the cold air should have made it visible but there was nothing Murphy had stopped growling at Emily but he still wouldn't go near her

it wasn't just fear anymore it was avoidance at first I thought he was skittish acting out but as the days passed I started watching closer, and I realized something that sent a chill through me. Murphy wouldn't look at her. Not once.

It wasn't just that he stayed away. It was like he couldn't see her at all. One night we were in the living room. Emily stood by the window, arms crossed over a chest, gazing out into the dark. Murphy sat on the floor a few feet away. His ears relaxed, his eyes half-lidded with sleep. But he wasn't looking at Emily. He was looking past her.

No, not past her. At the space next to her. He stared at it, stared at nothing. I felt a cold shiver run up my spine. Murphy, I called. His head snapped back toward me instantly, tail thumping against the floor, his ears perked up. I glanced at Emily, expecting her to notice, but she hadn't moved.

She was watching me. The silence stretched between us. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. If Murphy doesn't see her, then what does he see? To get some fresh air, I went to the shops. I don't know why, but I brought it up to the shopkeeper. It was an impulse, something about the weight of my chest, the feeling I couldn't shake. I guess I just couldn't keep it inside any longer.

I was standing at the counter, waiting for my change when I said, My wife went hiking a few days ago, I think she got turned around. She was out there a long time. The shopkeeper, a wiry, old man with a permanent squint froze. He didn't ask where she went. He didn't ask if she was okay. Instead, he reached from my bag and muttered,

You should be careful up there. Something in his tone made the hairs of my arms rise. I forced to chuckle. Why is that? He hesitated, sliding the bag toward me. Some things stay in the woods. my fingers curled around the paper handles. I tried to laugh again, but it came out wrong.

What does that mean? He just shook his head. Nothing just. Be careful. His eyes flicked up, scanning the shop, like someone else was listening. And suddenly, I didn't want to press him anymore. At home, the auditors didn't stop. It happened the first time I touched her in days.

Emily had always run cold. She used to press her cold feet against me in bed just to hear me yelp, used to complain when I turned the AC up too high, always pulling the blankets tighter around herself at night. Now, her skin was cold, not just cool, not just the kind of chill you get after stepping outside on a brisk evening. Cold, like stone.

It was a casual touch, just my fingers brushing against her arm as I passed her in the hallway. But the moment I felt it, my stomach dropped. I stopped. Jesus, Em, you feel frozen. She turned her head toward me, slow and smooth, too smooth. Do I? I forced to chuckle. Yeah.

Are you feeling okay? She smiled, the same way someone smiles when they're trying to make you feel stupid for worrying. I feel fine. I watched her for a second too long. Her pupils seemed darker than before. The irises like thin rings of gold around a deep, endless void. Red around her eyes. Strain looking like it was taking its toll.

And then turned away. never blinking the whole time. I told myself it was in my head that maybe she'd just been outside too long. But later that night, I woke up to something worse. I woke in the dark, my body heavy with sleep,

my mind groggy. I rolled over instinctively, reaching for her. Empty sheets. My heart jumped and I sat up. blinking into the darkness. Emily was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her back was to me, her shoulders rigid, her head slightly tilted toward the window.

She didn't move, didn't shift, didn't acknowledge me. I swallowed. Em? No reaction. She just stared. I swung my legs over the bed, pressing my bare feet to the floor. floor, feeling the cool wood beneath my toes. My throat was dry.

Slowly, I reached out, gently touching her shoulder. Her skin was even colder than before, like she'd been sitting outside in the frost all night. That's when I noticed something else. She wasn't breathing. I froze. My fingers curled slightly against her skin, waiting for. for the tell-tale rise and fall of her shoulders. Nothing.

She wasn't even trying to fake it. I slowly moved my hand toward her mouth, hovering just over her lips, waiting to feel warmth, her soft exhale of air. Nothing. She just wasn't breathing. I yanked my hand back

and my pulse hammered so loudly in my ears that I almost didn't hear her. Almost. Go back to sleep. Her voice was soft, almost too soft. She still hadn't moved, hadn't turned her head, hadn't blinked. I swallowed hard. Emily, what are you?

She finally turned, slowly. Her head tilted just enough to look at me over her shoulder. The dim glow of the moon through the moon through the, window caught her eyes at the perfect angle, so dark they reflected nothing back at me. Her lips curled at the corners. You should sleep, she whispered. I don't want you tired. I didn't move, didn't breathe myself.

Then just as slowly as she had turned, she faced forward again and continued staring out the window. I didn't sleep again. I barely functioned the next morning, running on coffee and frayed nerves, feeling my body betray me with exhaustion. I needed answers. So, I went into town. I don't know what I was hoping for. Maybe just human contact, someone normal, someone who would pull me out of my own head.

Maybe an excuse to get away from the house for a few hours. But when I stepped out of the general store, He was waiting for me. An old man, thin and wiry, with deep-set eyes and a face that looked like it had weathered decades of bad seasons. The old shopkeeper from before on a break. He was sitting on the bench just outside the entrance, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded neatly in his lap. I nearly walked past him, but then he said, You need to leave.

I stopped in my tracks, turned to look at him. His eyes were on me, sharp and certain. Not the words of a crazy old man, not a warning thrown at just anyone passing by. He meant me. I swallowed hard, forcing out a weak laugh. Excuse me? He didn't blink. If she came back,

She wasn't supposed to. A cold sensation trickled down my spine. The weight of those words pressed into my ribs, settling into the space between my lungs. I opened my mouth to demand an explanation, but the old man was already pushing himself to his feet. I took a step closer. What the hell does that mean? He shook his head, eyes darting briefly to the street, as if checking for someone. Then he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

Don't let us sleep, my mouth went dry. Before I could say another word, he turned and walked away. I watched him until he disappeared around the corner. I didn't go home right away. I sat in my car, gripping the steering wheel, staring at nothing, hearing his words repeat over and over again in my head. She wasn't supposed to come back. Don't let us sleep.

I should have left. That was the obvious answer. It had been for days. If someone else told me this story, if a friend came to me, trembling, saying, something is wrong with my wife, she's not acting like herself,

I think she might not even be human. I wouldn't hesitate. I tell them to pack a bag, get in the car, and never look back. but it's different when it's your wife it's different when it's someone you love I kept telling myself

it was in my head that maybe I was overreacting that maybe she was just tired or sick but that I was just adjusting to life in a new place reading too much into things and then there was the other thought the deeper one

the one I didn't want to acknowledge what if she's still in there What if she just needs help? What if I leave her? And there was never anything wrong at all, except me. So, instead of running, I did the worst thing I could do. I tried to understand. I sat at my desk late into the night, the glow of my laptop screen, the only light in the room,

trawling through old town records, newspaper archives, anything that might tell me what the hell was happening to my wife. I searched missing persons reports first, and that's when I found them. Hikers, campers, locals, all of them had gone missing near the woods by our house. Most of them were never found, but one case stood out. The article was over 30 years old, some news offshoot that covered conspiracies and urban legends, the kind of source you immediately dismiss as unreliable, yet it was the only thing that matched. The scanned newspaper clipping was grainy, the text barely legible, but the headline made my blood run cold.

Local woman returns after three months missing. She was never the same. I clicked on it, my pulse hammering as I skimmed through the details. The woman, Margaret Delaney. 27 years old, had gone missing on a solo hiking trip in the very same forest where Emily had been. She vanished without a trace, presumed dead. Then one evening, she simply walked back into town. No memory of where she had been, no signs of injury just...

Back. There was a quote from a husband who spent months grieving her, convinced she was dead. At first I thought it was a miracle, but the longer she stayed, the more I realized it wasn't her. Not really, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I scrolled further. The report ended abruptly. No follow-up, no conclusion, except for a single, ominous note at the bottom of the page. Vanished again.

This time, for good. I stared at those words, vanished again. I thought of Emily, standing at the window, unmoving. I thought of Murphy, refusing to acknowledge her. I thought of the way she felt beneath my hands, too cold. And I realized something that should have been obvious from the start. I wasn't afraid of what had happened to her. I was afraid of what was waiting to happen to her.

next. I shut the laptop. My hands were shaking. I forced myself to breathe, steadying the panic rising in my chest. Then I stood up and went to find my wife. She was in the living room, sitting on the couch, her posture too straight, too still. She'd been reading, or at least pretending to. Her book lay open on her lap, but her eyes weren't moving. She was just staring. I cleared my throat. Emily? She looked up at me, smiled. My mouth felt dry, happened in those woods. She tilted her head slightly, that small, distant smile still on her lips. What do you mean? I took a step closer. That day you got lost. What happened to you there. Her expression didn't change, but something about her felt different now, lighter,

amused, like I was asking the wrong questions, like she was waiting for me to catch up. Why do you keep looking at me like that? she asked. My pulse stuttered. She didn't answer. She just kept smiling. And suddenly, I felt like I wasn't looking at my wife's anymore like something else was looking back I wasn't getting anything out of her so I went back to trying to do more research that night I woke to a deep suffocating stillness not just the silence of the house not just the quiet of the woods outside a stillness that felt wrong it was the kind of quiet that felt like it was waiting for something instinctive

I reached for Emily, but the sheets beside me were cold. I sat up, my heart hammering, already knowing where she was. She was standing by the bedroom window. Her back was to me, her nightgown hanging loose over a frame, her arms limp at her sides. She wasn't moving, wasn't rocking on her feet, wasn't shifting her weight. She stood like something propped upright. Like if I touched her, she would tip over and shatter. The moonlight poured in, outlining her in pale silver light.

And for the first time, I realized how unnatural her stillness was. I swallowed thickly, already swinging my legs over the bed. Emily? She didn't answer. She wasn't even breathing again. My fingers curled against the mattress. I forced myself to stay. stand, step closer.

I spent so many nights ignoring this feeling, worried that doing something would make things worse. But I couldn't ignore it anymore, not when she looked like this. Her shoulders were trembling, and then I saw it. Her reflection in the glass. She was crying. Tears streaked down her face, catching the moonlight, slipping down her chest, slipping down her cheeks. But her expression didn't change. Her mouth didn't quiver. Her brows didn't furrow. Her face stayed eerily blank. Her lips slightly parted, like a body had forgotten how to cry,

like the tears were falling against a will. A cold weight settled in my chest. Emily? I stepped closer. My voice barely above a whisper. Her shoulders twitched. the smallest movement I had seen from her in days. Then, she spoke, Can't blink, she whispered. The words didn't make sense. I swallowed, my hands curling into fists. What do you mean?

Slowly, she turned her head. The movement was painfully slow, like a body wasn't used to moving this way anymore. When a face finally turned to me, my breath hitched in my throat. Her eyes, they were too wide. The skin beneath them was raw, darkened from exhaustion, but the whites of her eyes were dry, bloodshot. How long had she been forcing herself to stay awake?

How long had she been fighting this? If I blink, she whispered. The words quirk. caught in her throat. Her lips trembled for the first time in days. I'll go back. I felt my pulse hammer against my ribs. Her breath hitched. Her body swaying slightly. Her exhaustion pressing down on her like a weight. She wasn't going to last much longer. And then she looked at me, really looked at me. And something deep inside her eyes was moving. a shadow behind the iris, something shifting, stretching, something waiting.

Her voice was barely a breath. I was never supposed to leave, Emily swayed down her feet, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She was losing. I could see it now. Her body was failing. The exhaustion was finally catching up to her, wearing a woman. down in ways that even she couldn't fight anymore. Her skin was too pale, her lips slightly parted as if breathing had become a conscious effort. Her muscles twitched involuntarily,

tiny spasms rippling beneath her skin. And for the first time, I realized this wasn't Emily's choice, whatever had happened in the woods, whatever she had become. It had been forced on her. She didn't want this. She was just trying to stay. And she was losing. Emily, stay with me. I reached for her without thinking, my fingers brushing against her arm. She flinched at the contact, her body tensing, but she didn't pull away. She just kept staring. The tears streamed down her face, silent, endless, like a body knew something she didn't. Or maybe she did. Maybe she had always known.

I swallowed hard. You don't have to do this alone. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Her legs trembled. She was about to fall. I grabbed her shoulders, holding her up. own body's shaking now. Just sit down, okay.

You don't have to... I don't want to go back. Her voice was hoarse, cracking under the weight of so much fear. I tightened my grip. Then you won't, she shook her head weakly. You don't understand. Her fingers clutched at my shirt like she was trying to anchor herself to something real. Her body was burning through its last reserves, fighting the inevitable.

I had to keep her awake. Emily, look at me. She was looking at me. She had never stopped. I ran my hands over her arms, trying to steady her. Come on, just sit down, drink some water. Let's figure this out. Okay?

She blinked. No. She almost blinked. Her eyelids fluttered just for a second like a muscle spasm. Her body was giving up. Panic shot through me. No, stay with me, stay with me. She sucked in a sharp, shuddering breath fighting it.

Her fingers dug into my skin. Her grip weak but desperate. I can't, I can't. She swayed again, and I caught her, pulling her close, holding her upright. Just a little longer, I pleaded. Please, Emily! Her chest rose in one last heavy breath. Her fingers loosened, her eyelids fluttered, and then she blinked.

I was still holding her, or at least I thought I'd been. My arms were empty now, clutching at nothing but ever. There. No body. No wait. She'd been there just a second ago, warm and trembling against me. And now? Gone.

I staggered back. My hand still hovering where she had been. My body refusing to understand what had just happened. I looked around frantically. The room was empty. No sign she had ever been there. all, no discarded clothes, no strands of hair in the pillow, no imprint in the bed where she had slept beside me.

Just absence. The kind that felt permanent, a soft breath of air stirred from the curtains. I turned slowly. The window was open. I knew for a fact it had been closed when I went to bed. Outside, the trees stood still, their dark silhouettes waiting. Watching. The air felt thick, expectant.

The woods were completely silent, not just still, not just quiet. Silent. A sound broke the air. A small, familiar sound that felt somehow alien in this moment. A tail thumping against the floor. I turned my head, my stomach tightening. Murphy stood in the doorway, looking at me, and wagging his tail. Not cautiously, not hesitantly, just wagging.

For the first time in weeks, he stepped toward me, walked right up to me, pressed his nose against my hand. Like everything was normal again, like the house was whole again. like she had never been here. I sank on the edge of the bed. My hands were shaking. My head felt tight, my vision narrowing, my thoughts refusing to make sense of what had just happened. I swallowed hard, staring at the empty space beside me,

at the bed where she had slept, where we had laughed, where we had lived. I whispered. Emily? The word barely made a sound. I already knew. She somehow came back, wanting to spend time together despite the conditions. But she was right.

Whatever happened to her out there, whatever she encountered, she was never supposed to leave.