CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Never revive your Tamagotchi" Creepypasta

Episode Date: February 21, 2022

SLOVAK CRYPTID BY THE SAME AUTHOR► https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=5ixUjkJ...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by MikeJesus: 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...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-

There's nothing like moving back into a childhood bedroom to kickstarter aggression. I was 27. I'd lost both my job of five years and relationship of six. One of those fires precipitated the other, but before I could figure out where the blazers started, my adult life was cinder and I was back in a cramped room with a racetrack carpet. I had not seen my memory box since leaving for university, but after two nights of witnessing how ages was,

worsen my father's subsonic snoring, and I found myself sentimental. Beneath my bed, covered in a thick layer of dust, was a cartoon container filled with a rag-tag grouping of mementos from my youth. Most of the phones had charged boards that dated back to the early Stone Age, and I knew that reading through any of the old love letters would tear me apart. But, nestled in the remnants of paper waistbands from parties I couldn't remember, sat a monolith of the late 90s. My old Tamagotchi Well, it wasn't a Tamagotchi per se.

What I had was Cyberstwantini, roughly translated from Polish as cybercreature. A toy identical to a Tamagotchi in all by the fact that no money from its sales travelled back to the Bandai Corporation. Instead, the proceeds from the sales of Cyberstwantany were split between some enterprising pole with no regard for copyright law

and his associate who sold the toys at Zacropane open-air market. Trademark infringement or not, my pocket-sized digital animal was a steady companion for the early years of elementary school. In a world of 4K YouTube videos, it was difficult to imagine

how a collection of pixels and a keychain could mean so much to me as a kid. But, sitting on my racetrack carpet, as a kid, I yearned for a return to that simplicity. the plastic toy didn't respond to any input presuming that the batteries for the Cyberstallensiny might be dead I fished around the Mementos for something salvageable

at the bottom of the box gifted once but never worn was the digital watch I received after my first communion the button batteries that the watch ran on fit snugly inside of the Cyberthornsony but even then the toy refused to turn on Back in the playground days, most of my friends had a digital creature of their own. The nationality of our knockoffs ranged from Vietnam to Ukraine, but they all function the same way. With the help of the plastic key that came with a toy, any amount of neglect could be undone.

For a good four years, I carried the small bit of plastic in my pocket on the off chance that disaster struck. But when I truly needed it, the key was nowhere to be found. I emptied out the whole memory box in hopes of finding the resuscitation device, but it soon became clear that the key had fallen victim to a vacuum cleaner a long time ago. The piece of paper I tried sticking into the Cyberstorms and his resuscitation hole nearly got stuck inside. The edge of my cigarette pack didn't do much better. The only material that seemed to be able to replicate the plastic key

was the passport photo of my now ex-partner that I still saw. carried in my wallet. I had to fold the photo a couple of times so that it would fit the toy. All that I could see was one big green eye watching me. The folded up photo seemed to elicit a click from the plastic innards of the cybers fauntony, yet the screen remained dormant. My need to regress the childhood quickly turned into an imbitant, infatile rage. I was angrier about my situation in life rather than the task. Tamaguchi not turning on, but the big green eyes staring at me from my palm made any self-reflection far too painful. It was around 3 a.m. on a Wednesday. The walls on my cramped bedroom were vibrating under the strain of an inhuman snore,

and I was furiously slamming a picture of my ex into a knock-off Tamagotchi. Just before the realization that I should go to sleep dawned on me, however. The screen lit up. was a dim white light at first, but it grew at a worrisome speed. Soon enough, the Tamercotch's screen rivaled the shine of my bedside lamp. Soon enough, it surpassed it. Like a teen trying to hide a portable DVD player, I shoved the toy under my covers. My bedding was thick enough to block out the light, with a couple seconds for which I'd observed the absurdity were enough to cause concern.

For about a minute, I laid in bed, listening. to my father's snore, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Then my curiosity got the better of me. In an instant, the light enveloped the entire room. My bedroom was wiped away by a blast of bright, blinding white. All went silent, all ceased to exist. The smell of McDonald's takeout and sweat dispersed into the abyss. For a moment, I was stuck in a purgatory of nothing.

nothingness. I did not stay long. The first thing I felt was the coarse plastic grass beneath my palms. As the white blindness left my eyes, I was able to see my surroundings. The faux grass quickly became irrelevant. All I could feel was hair-raising terror. I stood on a square of plastic greenery suspended in a baby blue sky. Above me there were clouds and beneath a Floating mass, there was fog. But the island of neon green plastic was the only thing that existed near and far. The space was no bigger than someone's backyard. A blocky shack sat in the center of the landmass, with a clean-looking outhouse as stones throw away.

Outside of the shack there was an egg twice the size of my skull. It was wet and covered in zig-zag lines, and it scared me most of all. I tried to convince myself that I was having a dream or maybe a seizure But I was never good at convincing myself for things It all felt too real No amount of pinches to the arm or bites of the cheek brought me back to my room Not being able to satisfy my urge to escape I tried to hide As I made my way into the shack

The wet egg gently swayed from side to side I did my best not to think about what it could hatch into. Inside of the shack was Spartan. Pressed up against the wall was a large shelf, filled with dozens of identical burgers that looked like the platonic idea of fast food. In the middle of the shack sat a lonely soccer ball. Propped up next to the window, rusted and worn, was a giant battle axe. I started pinching myself again, hoping to return to the coherent world.

world of my bedroom. With each peck of the arm, I grew more concerned I was trapped. From beyond the window, I could see the egg sway from side to side. It had grown considerably. The countdown to the egg hatching in my cybers fauncerny was my first real experience with the concept of time. Prior to that, if I ever asked my parents how long something would take, they would simply tell me to count to a hundred or two hundred, and that would occupy enough to stop being restless. The timer read five minutes. Sitting in the back of my grandfather's car,

crossing the border from Poland, the five minutes it took for the cyber swaneter hatch lasted in eternity. Watching the slimy egg bloat up from inside my surreal shack, the five minutes went by in a snap. The wet egg swayed from side to side, bloating bigger and bigger, until its shell could no longer contain the being trapped inside. With horror, I watched the zigzag pattern split aside.

New life burst from the strange egg. Crooked. A mess of red hair, a flash of pink skin. I barely saw the animal before it ran from the window. Crooked! The creature had stomped its way behind the wooden shack, but I could still hear its snorts. The sounds were deep and guitaral, but they didn't sound like they came from an animal.

They sounded strangely human. Crooked. Thinking their confronted the creature would shorten the absurd nightmare I was stuck in, I opened the door of the shack. The moment I spotted the beast, I slammed the door shut and grabbed the axe. The thing outside was beyond comprehension. The memories I had concerning the Tamagotchi never revolved around the actual toy. My digital pet was just a collection of pixels. What truly brought it to life was my commitment to its well-being.

Every morning, before I even got out of bed, I would make sure that my service force didn't need to go to the bathroom. My math classes, my social studies classes, hell, most of my elementary school existence, was spent with a plastic keychain, hidden beneath my desk, making sure my digital friend was well-fed and not bored and comfortable. The creature itself was just the collection of two dozen pixels. It was my imagination that sharpened the image.

Croached. Outside the wooden shack stood a monster. It had the plump body of a well-fed pig, but its face was well out of the realm of nature. It looked like an old man who had fired. too much skin on his face. A tuft of hair that was far too red rested on the beast's scalp. From behind the folds of flesh, two small black eyes stared back at me. The animal seemed to have no interest in me, but I refused to let go over the axe. He just roamed around the plain of fake grass, occasionally sniffing at the plastic with

this oversized human nose. I picked in my skin until I drew blood, but my body refused to wake up from the face. the nightmare. After a solid 30 minutes of sheer terror, the world turned even more confusing. There was urgency in the animal's call now. Something was wrong. The creature was unhappy and his discomfort was sending ripples to the strange world I was trapped in. The bright blue sky outside started the crack in the streaks of bloody red. The earth shook. The animal was looking at me through the window. Past the flabby skin, I could see the creature's black eyes.

It wanted something from me. It didn't take long to figure out what. It was like an optical illusion. The moment I tried to focus in on the floating object above the beast's head, it disappeared. Yet, when I looked at the hybrid pig in the eyes, I could see it. An image of a burger floating above its head like the halo of an obese saint. The animal wanted to be fed. The pigs demand echoed through the strange world.

My wooden shack quivered under the weight of the animal's tenor. Not wanting to see the full extent of the creature's anger, I grabbed one of the cold burgers off the shelf and stepped out on the plastic grass. I didn't realize I left the axe inside of the shack until I was standing in front of the beast As the rolls of the pig's face parted to reveal a row of dull square teeth I found myself fearing for my life Yet when the creature ate the burger from my hands

It was gentle By the time it had gobbled up the meal The universe had calmed The world I inhabited was still deathly confusing But its blue sky had returned. Croached. The creature went back to wondering

through its limited world. With nowhere else to go, I sat down on the rough plastic grass. With no sun in the sky and no watch on my wrist, the concert of time eluded me. For what felt like at least an hour, the animal roamed around the plastic lawn

completely ignoring me. I had gotten lost in my thoughts. when it spoke to me once more. Kroacht? Much like the image of the burger, the three jagged lines above the pig's head refused to appear on direct observation. Looking into those dark eyes,

I knew exactly what the animal wanted, though. Unsure of the creature's dynamics, I opened the door to the outhouse. The beast stood unsteadily on its hind hooves as it entered the latrine, and the sounds that it produced were beyond discomforting. Yet, when the pig had finished his business, the outhouse was surprisingly clean.

I recognised the burger that floated above the animal's head. I recognised the stink lines. I'd seen the signs of my youth. Back when my entire world could be diluted into a handful of pixels hiding beneath my desk, the signs would guide me in caring for my cyber-slaughtony. The floating burger meant the creature was hungry. The stink line signaled the need to use the bathroom. There was a third signal that I didn't need to wait for.

As the creature roamed around its small patch of plastic greenery, I retrieved the soccer ball from inside of the shack. Kroached! There was a hint of joy in the pig's throaty cries. A big red heart shined above its head. We kicked the ball back and forth and take the ball. I got tired. The animal didn't seem to mind our game ending,

but it was thankful for the attention. As it laid down on the grass, it nozzled me with its wet human nose. I slept on the plastic lawn. I slept hoping that I would wake back up in my childhood bedroom in a world that was discomforting but understandable. When I woke,

all I saw was baby blue sky. The burgers liked any semblance of taste or smell. But they fed me. The outhouse provided a place to relieve myself, but it never showed any signs of use. My existence in the strange digital world still made me uncomfortable,

but I no longer felt the need to pinch my arms. I knew it wasn't a dream. I knew. I was trapped. With no sun in the sky, there were no days to count. At first I made an effort to keep track, of how many meals I'd eaten to gather some semblance of the hours that had passed, but I quickly

lost count. Time was passing, yet with nowhere to quantify the passage, it quickly became irrelevant. The thoughts of my unemployment, my housing situation, my broken heart, they all quickly became irrelevant as well. Somewhere in the back of my head, I remembered my old life, I remembered the hurt. Yet, with nothing to remind me of my sorrow, the thoughts quickly drifted away into the realm of the abstract. My responsibilities had changed. I no longer had to earn a paycheck, or balance a social life, or make something in myself. All I had to do was take care of my cyber-swartney. With each burger that I ate, with each kick of the soccer ball, my old existence grew distant. All of the responsibilities and pressure

of adult life had dissipated into an elaborate version of the imaginary world in my childhood. My digital pet was my only companion, and after a while, it felt like I could live out the rest of my existence with nothing but its dark eyes and cold nozzles. There was no sun to track the days with, yet eventually my body made it impossible to ignore the passage of time. I was far too heartbroken to shave when I first moved in with my parents, yet the light scruff I had entered the digital world with had turned into a beard that reached down to my chest. My nails had extended far longer to look more like claws. There were no mirrors in the strange realm that I was trapped in, but when I touched my scalp, I could feel the hair on the top of my head growing thinner.

For a couple dozen meals, I tried to ignore the fact that I was aging, but as my back started the strain under my games with the cybor swastany, my body's degradation became unavoidable. I found peace in the strange block of false greenery, yet a lifetime of peace was not what I wanted. The breather from reality of the resurrection of my Tamagotchi afforded me was a welcome respite, but I found myself longing for the real world. I wanted to make something in myself. I wanted to have an impact. I wanted to love again.

For what felt like weeks, I roamed by the edges of the floating cage trying to figure out how to escape. Leaping down into the bright blue abyss was the first option that came to mind. Yet I felt more like death than a plan of escape. The first couple of times the thoughts sprung up in my mind, I tried to push it away. But as I paced around my wooden shack, the image of the rusty battle-axe refused to leave me. I kept on trying to find a different solution, but I kept on circling back to it. The digital realm was based rather cyber-sworched than he. If there was no digital animal for me to take care of, there would be no need for me to be imprisoned.

Once my nails started getting too long to comfortably hold the weapon, I retrieved it. Crouched! From beneath the flaps of moist skin, its dark eyes watched me. There was no emotion in them. The creature wasn't scared or disappointed. It just watched me. When I was a kid, the decision to stop feeding my Tamaguchi was not a decision. It simply happened.

One day, I was hyper-fixated on my plastic toy, and the next, my attention was elsewhere. The toy spent months, if not years, trapped somewhere in the dust beneath my bed. When I finally found the artefact of my bed, childhood. It was dropped into my memory box without much ceremony. Standing above the strange creature of pale flesh with a battle axe was different. I'm sorry, friend, I said, my voice hoarse from not being used for what felt like years. Crutched, my digital friend replied. The animal did not understand and thus was not angry.

It just watched me, completely ignoring the axe in my hands. I did not wait for my companion to make sense of what I was doing. I brought the axe down. The blade cut through its neck as if it was room temperature of butter. Before the axe hit the ground, reality came crashing down. It was around 3 a.m. on a Wednesday, and the walls in my cramped bedroom were shaking under my father's snores. I woke up in my bed, covered in sweat and blood, and looking like a castaway. The cypress-sworchthony was still in my hands, but the screen was dark.

I handled the plastic toy with a sort of care reserved for faulty nuclear warheads and hid it back in my memory box. With a cardboard safely tugged beneath my bed, I crept over to the bathroom and got rid of all the excess hair and nails that I developed in my digital prison. Not a day had passed, but I feel like I'm almost done being sad about my heartbreak and misfortune. For this peace of mind, however, I've paid with years of my life. I do not feel my age these days. I know the explanation is absurd, but also in the depths of my bones, I know I am much older than my driving license suggests. It didn't take long for the visage of the strange pigman hybrid to leave my mind.

Some things are far too disturbing to remember. What I have stuck around, however, is the sound. Sometimes, when I'm having trouble falling asleep, I feel overwhelmed with a task at hand. I hear it. I hear the creature, and I immediately appreciate the freedom. I have.