CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "NEVER Try Overexposure Therapy" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 28, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saturdead: 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►Oswaldo Cepeda: https://twitter.com/moodydarkroom/sta...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-

I've had a fear of rats for as long as I can remember. I don't know exactly what it is about them that scares me. It's not just the tail or the way they move or how they sound. It is everything and it is nothing. To me, rats have always been synonymous with unconditional terror. It all comes from a childhood trauma. A large rat chased me up a hill where I had to hide in a tool shed. The thing seemed rabid and I had to sit in there for at least

an hour listening to the squeals and cries of the desperate thing that wanted to eat me. It was an unusually big rat, larger than some cats I've seen. It's called Mossophobia, and up until recently, it hasn't really been an issue. I mean, sure, I can get panic attacks and a flight reaction by just seeing one, but I've been able to keep them out of my life more often than not. Sure, now that I'm apparent, I won't let my two days. kids have a hamster, but I'm pretty sure the Yorkshire Terrier we have keeps them busy. My phobia became an issue not too long ago. I was driving the kids home from school.

Traffic was being rerouted for maintenance, so I had to take a small dirt road instead of staying on Maine. It wasn't far, and there was barely any traffic. The road goes by a set of fishing cabins set up around the lake, but was extended to lead back to the main road further up ahead. Usually, there's nothing but frogs there. As I drove by, a small family of six rats ran straight across the road. This had never happened to me before. My body spasmed and my mind blanked. I panicked and turned the car straight into a pine tree.

It was such a strange feeling. I heard this loud scream and tried to cover my ears. only to realize I was the one screaming. My oldest daughter managed the call 911. My reaction was far scarier to them than the crash itself. We were fine. I was driving slowly and everyone turned out okay. Even the car was okay after some light body work.

However, my wife insisted I started going to therapy to deal with this fear once and for all. I couldn't say no. Not again. There aren't many mental health professionals in the nearby area, so the list of available therapists wasn't long. I could go for two sessions a week if it wasn't too far away. I was looking for assisted exposure therapy,

and truth be told, I was a bit on edge about the whole thing. My wife was the driving force behind this decision, so she pretty much just pointed me where to go. She chose to sign me up for a session with Dr. Jane Bogan. Dr. Jane was excited to see me. She was in her 40s and had this combed-back Elvira-looking hairdo, but without the volume. At first sight, you might mistake her for a medium or a psychic. It wasn't the best first impression, but her credentials checked out.

We shook hands, her wrist rattling with jewelry and chains. She insisted I call her Jane. The office was kind of murky, dark grey wallpaper. with matching carpet, plenty of bookshelves with a desk set up by the corner, and of course, fancy leather lounge chairs,

the kind you can straighten out to lie down in. Her office assistant, Jeremy, offered me a coffee and a doughnut before returning to an adjacent room. Apparently, he helped all four officers in the building

with their scheduling, but Jane was the only one working today. Jeremy was a short, balding man with a tired look. He had some kind of accent, but I couldn't put my finger on what? European, I think. Today, he's all ours, Jane joked.

Jeremy didn't laugh. Jane and I had a long talk about my phobia. I told her about the toolshed on the top of that grassy hill and the screeching sounds of the rabid rat, the desperate scratching trying to make the dent in the front door. I told her about the car crash and how my body just seized up and refused to let me act. Jane was a very good listener, asking follow-up questions and making notes along the way.

She nodded, making eye contact, and seemed very attentive. She was good, and just talking openly about my fear was refreshing. At the end of the first session, Jane explained her thoughts to me. Until next time, I'll present a treatment plan, but I can already say you're a prime candidate for overexposure therapy. Do you mean... Exposure therapy? I asked. No, this is different, she smiled and touched my hand. Over-exposure therapy is slightly different, but far more effective in the long run. It also doesn't require you to actually meet or touch any rats. It can be done right here in the office.

Really? I've never heard of it. I'm licensed to perform it, she said and stood up. She pointed out a diploma next to a desk. right there underneath a degree from Minnesota State was a license from the Board of Behavioral Health and Therapy B-BHT It looked official enough and I didn't have reason to distrust her I agreed to discuss it with my wife

Of course It wasn't much of a discussion I didn't mind trying something new and my wife was overjoyed to see me progressing We tried locking up overexposure therapy but it didn't give us anything. Most things were just explaining how regular exposure therapy works. I didn't like the idea of facing my fear,

but with the guidance of Dr. Jane, it felt a bit easier. She was a professional after all. I called her and agreed to the treatment. She explained it would be best to set aside a full day for it. We booked the upcoming Saturday. It wouldn't be cheap, but she guaranteed a breakthrough. I'd wager my reputation on it, she laughed. The next Saturday I kissed my wife goodbye and left to see Dr. Jane.

I was nervous, but seeing my girls wave goodbye as I pulled out of the driveway calmed my heart. They were so worried about me. I had to get better. When I got to Dr. Jane's office, she was waiting for me in the parking lot. Jeremy was there as well, despite it being a Saturday. My car was the only one in the parking. lot, making me wonder if Jane lived nearby and walked to work. As I got out of the car, I noticed Jeremy holding a cup of coffee and a donut.

We hadn't even stepped inside yet. He didn't blink much. Glad you can make it, Jane said. It's going to be a long day. Jeremy handed me the coffee and donut, and we entered the office. One of the lounge chairs was set up so I could lie down. I noticed how Jeremy lingered in the room until Jane stared in down

then she turned her attention to me it felt like staring into a furnace have a seat I lay down as she dimmed the lights close your eyes and don't be alarmed she continued what are you I didn't have time to say anything else

Jane touched her thumb to my forehead and my mind was set on fire. That's the only way I can explain the sensation. My mind flared and there was an intense heat. Wave after wave, fanning out for the point in my forehead she touched. Heat, then freezing cold. There was a taste of metal and a smell of burning rubber

like getting a tattoo on my brain. I couldn't open my eyes and I couldn't feel my hands or feet. It felt like I was sinking into the chair. deeper and deeper. Relax, a disembodied voice demanded. I felt my breathing stop, my heart's slowing, fire turned to ice. I could have sworn I was dying,

but my body didn't respond. I was losing control. Then my eyes burst open. It felt like breaching the surface after diving too deep. My ball was shot through my body like an automatic rifle. I was shaking and my eyes teared up. To call it disorienting would be an understatement. I was still in the office, but it was night.

I'd arrived at 10 in the morning. Now it was close to midnight. Jane was gone. Jeremy too. My pockets were empty. I called out, but there was no response. I was alone. I opened the office door and stepped out into the parking lot, only to realize I was, actually, far from alone.

There was Jeremy. His eyes were wide open and seemed larger than usual. The pupils were of different sizes. His mouth was open like a panting dog, revealing a tongue long enough to reach his belly button. He was completely nude and covered in deep, bloodless cuts. He stood in the middle of the parking lot under the single working light post. He seemed taller like stretched soft plastic. He locked eyes, his mouth curled into a smile, never blinking, never closing his mouth.

And now, he was sprinting towards me, with complete abandon. Naked feet slapped against the concrete. He almost tripped as he stumbled across the curb. I slammed the door shut. Jeremy's entire body weight slammed against the door with a deep splat. The door buckled, but held. Jeremy was screaming. It was a pained, primal shriek, like someone being set on fire, all enveloping pain, expressed in a rasping and dried voice.

I hurried back into the office. One of the bookshelves looked loose, so with enough force I was able to tip it. I had to try. The bookshelf itself wasn't heavy, but the over 100 books on psychology held it down. I summoned all my strength and tip the whole thing in front of the door. I sat back down, back to the bookshelf. I noticed I was screaming too, yelling at him to stop and leave me alone. It wasn't a conscious decision.

It just happened. I was so disoriented. It seemed like time was standing still. As Jeremy broke through the door leading in from the parking lot, I braced myself. He flung himself against the office door, but he added way to the bookshelf and myself was enough to keep it shut. Stop, I heard myself scream. Please, just stop!

I scrambled to hold him back, cutting my thumb open on a splinter. I didn't even notice it until my hand started slipping from my blood. As I stared across the room, I could see the full moon outside the office window. Slowly, a face appeared on the other side of the glass, stepping out from the dark.

A woman I'd never seen before, hairless, also with deep. deep cuts across her skin. Eyes wide, pupil was differently sized, her mouth wide open, her long tongue pressed against the glass like a dying heel. No, I heard myself sigh. Please, just, no. She nodded as her mouth turned into a sinister smile. Using her arms and face, she started to break herself against glass. She didn't even bleed from the cuts. I didn't know what to do until the glass.

glass shattered. I bolted to the left through the side door to the hallway. I followed the corridor to the right as the office door broke behind me. Jeremy was through. I could hear the two of them panting as they chased me. I saw two options, get out through a window or lock myself in the bathroom. I refused to coin myself, so I chose the window. I smashed it with my elbow and climbed out, pulling cold fingers brush against my neck. It was cold outside and dark. I just ran, hearing the panting behind me. I followed a path into a pine forest, getting scratches from the trees across my face. It is nothing short of a miracle that I didn't trip.

I paid no attention to my feet. As the ground turned upwards to a hill, I lost my breath. I knew this hill, and this couldn't be here. It was the same hill where I'd been chased into a tool shed as a kid. And there it was. There was nowhere else for me to go. They were fast and I had to find cover. This was impossible.

I'd done this once before, and now I was doing it again. I ran up the hill, flung the old wooden door open and shut it behind me. The door had a sidebolt, so I locked it. There were no windows, but the entire shed was flimsy at best. I cursed myself. This was just another dead end. for minutes. It was quiet.

Maybe they hadn't followed me. Maybe they took a different path. I relaxed my breath, feeling blood returned to my fingers and toes. Then they came. They smashed themselves against the door. They tore at the frail planks. The pain screams exploded and echoed across the hillside.

I could hear myself think. I looked where to go next, but I was cornered. It can't in like this, I panted. It can't, it won't, not like this. I cried, I pleaded. There were more of them now, at least six. One of the planks on the left side broke off

and five arms reached for me. Pale arms with deep, bloodless cuts. The foreman reflected unblinking eyes and long, slithering tongues. Not like this. The slide bolt had lost two screws, It was a matter of seconds. No.

I arm myself with a claw hammer as the door burst open. Jeremy was the first thin, but I didn't get the chance to attack. Three different arms grabbed me, disarmed me and pushed me onto the floor. Cold flesh pressed against me. Countless, eager faces drooled with delight as teeth pierced my neck. Then... I woke up. The clerk showed 20 minutes past five in the air.

afternoon. I was on the floor of Dr. Jane's office, curled up in a fetal position. There was a cold towel on my head, and Dr. Jane was calmly stroking my shoulder. My head was warm, and my headache was subsiding. Jeremy was nowhere around. There we go, she whispered. You're fine, you're fine. I couldn't speak. I was shaking like a leaf. Jane helped me back up in the seat. That was the end of the treatment, she smiled. You're done. What, what was?

I had completely forgotten why I was there in the first place. Jane reached for something. Hold out your hands, she said. I did as she asked. A second later, a small white mouse was placed in my palms. A confused little thing just sniffed me and stood on his hind legs. I didn't react. In my mind,

I was about to be eaten alive just seconds ago. You seem to be cured, Jane smiled. Treatment successful. You can give him back now if you want. I wouldn't mind holding him for a bit. I really didn't. I wanted the little mouse to stay. It was a tiny comfort.

A living creature I could feel meant me no harm. Good, nodded Jane. So, what did? I mean, what happened? You were over-exposed, said Jane, filling out some paperwork. An extreme stress reaction dampens all other reactions. I don't understand. Say you have an oven with four settings, she continued, four being the highest setting.

That's where you were, with your fear of rats. Maximum power, strength four. She handed the paper over to me. It was a bill for the day. I changed your maximum setting to ten. Suddenly, a four doesn't seem so bad. But how? She sat down across from me and locked her eyes to mine.

There was something dark in there, a hint of red. I'm very good at what I do. She took my hand and turned it over. That's when I noticed the cut along my thumb. I was allowed to keep the mouse. I bought him a little cage, some toys and plenty of food. When I got home that night, my wife couldn't believe her eyes.

My girls named the mouse Kenny, and he was gently played with late into the night, much to why York his dismay. My wife called it a miracle. But I didn't know what to call it. My mind was still in a daze. I find myself thinking back to that day. It wasn't a dream or a vision.

It was real. it had to be. Thumbs don't cut themselves on imaginary splinters. Sometimes I find myself staring into the mirror, seeing my pupils dilate into different sizes. It feels like my tongue has grown longer. Hell, my forehead seems to have a slight magnetic pull where Dr. Jane touched me.

It's a very unusual kind of headache. There was also an incident. Just a few days ago, where I cut my finger dicing potatoes. Not a drop of blood came out. I barely even felt it. I can't bring myself to go back to Dr. Jane. If there is even a slight chance you'll put me back on that hill,

I won't ever talk to her or see her again. I might have had the fear of rats scared out of me. But it has been replaced by this deep, existential dread for what Dr. Jane could do to me if she wanted to. What has she done to me? And why can't I bleed?