CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Something Ate My Father's Brain" Creepypasta

Episode Date: September 24, 2020

Yum yum.CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Kindlypatrick: 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►Davesrightmind: https://www.deviantart.com/davesright...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-

My father passed away last month after a struggle with a strange illness. He started having problems after a hunting trip in Tennessee with a few of his work buddies. They'd done it dozens of times in the past. Go out early in the morning, camp out, bag a few deer, and get back home by evening of the next day. And at the end, we didn't really have any reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary until the following spring. I think I should let you know what kind of man my dad was to understand the severity of his decline. He worked as an engineer at an aluminium plant,

always showing up on time for 20 years. He was a big Kentucky Wildcats fan, always either going to their games or taping them at home if work or family matters got in the way. He was vibrant and opinionated. He would argue with you, but he would be the first to apologise afterwards. As a kid,

I go camping with him, and he'd tell me all about the animals and the land, and we'd watch the stars at night. I know this is something of a tangent, but I really don't like the idea of telling you about what comes next, without some idea of who he used to be before he lost his mind. It began with the smallest of things. He'd have headaches. He'd forget little things like his keys or his email password. He'd get depressed and withdrawn one moment, and he'd be right back to normal. minutes after. Mom didn't think much of it, and neither did I, though in hindsight, I was probably too preoccupied with the community college to see what was going on.

The first true red flag we got was when he forgot how to spell his mother's name the day before a birthday. He picked out a card for her for us to sign, and when he sat down with his pen in hand, he turned to Mom and asked, How do you spell Margaret? it. We thought he was joking at first, but that look of flat confusion in his face quickly proved

that he wasn't. We were ready to write the incident off as just him having a scatterbrain moment, but things like this kept happening. Just a day later, Mom called him at work to get some rice on his way home for dinner, and when he showed up without any, we found out he had forgotten to buy any rice and even that she had called at all. Then he started having more problems at home. His desk went from being always tidy and neat to being strewn with papers and junk because he kept forgetting to tidy it.

He kept forgetting to feed the cat. After a while, Mom and I were doing most of the work around the house. Those periods of depression got worse as well. Every time he'd forget something, he'd be withdrawn and madded himself for hours later. Another month later and the headaches turned into intense migraines and he was having trouble concentrating and doing math. Dad got worse after dark,

and nearly every night he'd wake up in a cold sweat, freaking out about a dark shadow he kept seeing standing over his bed and staring at him. That was what finally got us to take him to a therapist. She told him he was most likely stressed from the job and gave him some pills for it. They seemed to help at first, until one day they didn't. By now, my father was well aware something was wrong with him, but his pride wouldn't let him admit the full extent of the damage to anyone or even himself. We could barely get him to take the medication,

and we mostly just watched as he tried to force himself to remember things. The most we could get him to do was take a week off from work to recuperate. We took a trip to the beach, enjoyed the ocean air and went swimming. He wasn't as coordinated in the water as he used to be, but it seemed to help Dad. For a while, he was more or less back to his old self. And then it got worse. One day, he came home from work a couple hours later than usual,

because he'd gotten lost. We couldn't believe it. Lost in a town he's lived in for years. Mom was understandably irate, having worried herself sick the entire time, but she was quick to forgive. I think she just didn't want to think about it. Four days later and Dad got sent home from work early

because he couldn't do his work and had a panic attack in the break room. It took four other people to calm him down. He was screaming about a shadow following him around, a shadow that wasn't his own. Then he threw a chair at a woman who was trying to help him. His supervisor was an understanding man and agreed that charges would be dropped and he would not be fired.

as long as he took time off from work to get help. This time, there would be no debate about it. My father would go to a doctor and would do whatever they told him. As much as he hated the idea of being sick and depending on others, he hated what he was putting the family through more. Test, after expensive tests later, the doctor took us aside and gave us grim news. Your father has early onset dementia.

He said. There was a moment of silent disbelief as the full weight of the situation took a while to really settle in. Then it hit us with full force. Mom was crying, I was crying. The doctor continued to speak. We don't really know the cause yet.

There's no family history of Alzheimer's and he tested negative for other causes. He prescribed medication and told us to watch him closely as we were potentially witnessing the progression of a rare condition and would probably need specialised care. The drive home was silent. Dad spent the entire trip staring out the window,

watching nothing in particular. Mom's eyes were red from the tears and she would break into fits of sobbing every so often. It was a relief when we finally got home. We all went to bed early and my father had another fit of night terrors about that damn shadow. The doctor told us he was just hallucinating, but I couldn't help it feel something more was going on.

What if he wasn't just seeing things? The following weekend came and went and we monitored Dad's condition as best we could. His memories would come and go like songs on a radio with bad reception, with some of them getting broken, mixed up, and tangled together into this messed-up web of illusions and actual events. We spent every moment of the day, dreading the inevitable decline into grey, hazing nothing. Needless to say, my father did not return to work when his sick leave was up. My aunt came over to check on him and Dad didn't know who she was. The whole time she was there, he was getting more and more anxious and paranoid

and Mom kept having to take him to the other room to calm him down. First, he thought she was a stranger. then he thought she was an imposter. After my aunt left, Dad got out a notebook and began drawing sketches of the shadow he kept seeing. They varied in detail

from full pictures to hasty scribbles, but they all had a consistent general form. You could tell it was the same thing in every picture. It was a tall, dark, human-like figure with lanky limbs and long fingers. It didn't have anything you could call a face, but it did have an empty circle in the middle of its head where a face would be.

And it had horns, curved horns like the jaws of a stag beetle. I could tell my mom didn't believe him, but she humoured him for the time being. I asked what the thing was, and he just said, Memory Eater, we couldn't get much more out of him, and pushing the subject further was beginning to upset him, so we just called it a day. I did some research, and most of what turned up mentioned shadow beings, but nothing about them eating memories or whatever was going on. As I saw my father decline, I knew I had to find something out and quick. I took the sketchbook to a professor at the college who was knowledgeable about American folklore,

hoping to find a lead, or at least someone I could talk to about this whole mess. As he looked over the sketches, his expression soured. There was a grim seriousness in a moment of silence before he spoke, almost painful. And you said your father is dementia? He said, looking up at me, the lens of his glasses catching the light of his desk lamp. I nodded silently, and he continued. I've heard of similar cases. One was a retired police officer.

the other was a 30-year-old woman. They started losing their minds and nobody could find what was exactly wrong with them. And the decline was fast. In both cases, they had nightmares and hallucinations of something exactly like this. The professor pointed at one of the more detailed sketches of the shadow being,

and I felt a knot in my stomach. How had three different people hallucinate the same thing? Hell, what happened to the same thing? them to begin with. I asked if there was anything he knew about how they could have caught this disease or whatever it was, and he handed the sketchbook back to me and sighed. All I know is that in both cases, the symptoms appeared after spending time in the woods. The woman reported being touched by a horned figure in a tent, but this was dismissed as another

hallucination. There have been sources comparing the cases to things like shadow people and demons, but obviously they're not taken seriously. He shrugged. I personally don't... I personally don't know what to think. I hope the best for your father. I like to consider myself a rational man. I've never been superstitious,

but I cannot show the feeling something is going on here. I don't know what to do or where to go, and it's just so frustrating. When I drove home, I got a call from my mother, telling me, Dad, had another panic attack because he saw something in a mirror. I didn't ask what he saw. I already knew.

Around this time, he was confused, even in his more lucid moments. He knew he was forgetting things, but he couldn't remember what it was he had forgotten. When I got home, he forgot my name, and I saw this pain in his face where he knew he was supposed to know, but he couldn't for the life of him

dredge up the memory. It was that moment when I saw him cry for the first time. The next morning he got up, got dressed, and tried to go back to work. Mom caught up to him

just as he got into his car and she had to literally drag him out before he drove off. The night terrors got worse. Nearly every night he would see the memory eater and then the screaming and kicking would come.

Now it was more vivid. He would cry out. out, it's grabbing my neck, over and over as he thrashed around under the covers. Then he started going downhill faster. He no longer recognised Mom, so every day she had to explain to the man that they were married. An entire life together, gone, and you could tell he was every bit as hurt as she was. He would mistake complete strangers for relatives, tried to call his long dead child of into the house to feed it, and he would be heartbroken every time he told him what happened.

Every day brought the same old confusions and horrors, made new by his wrecked mind. The most bizarre were his calmer moments. He would just randomly zone out with a serene expression on his face, and I am ashamed to admit that it was often a welcome break. The doctor said he was disassociating, and I far prefer that to the hallucinations and the visions of the memory eater, which only grew steadily more and more frequent. It had reached the point where every time Dad was awake and not spacing out,

he'll be watching for the horn's shadow with the empty face, and he would yell at us to get him out of the room if he saw it. We never saw anything ourselves, but we never argued with him. As much as it pains me to say it, I was relieved. when he finally died. Mom refused to put him in hospice care because she didn't want to leave him with strangers and thought her job as a nurse prepared her.

Maybe so, but I know she wasn't ready for the last stage of the affliction. Dad physically deteriorated, losing weight and looking like a zombie. The confusion had deepened to the point that he had forgotten that his mind was going and he regarded both me and my mom as slightly familiar figures. The few times he spoke, he never called us by our names,

and it was often barely coherent. He was bedridden and never slept for very long, for every time he did, it would be back. Even in this degenerated state, the memories of the memory eater were untouched. Perhaps the thing likes its victims to know that is hurting them. Music seemed to help, so he kept a radio playing in his room all day.

Sometimes we'd hear him humming along to the tune, and it'd be like seeing him as he was for the briefest time. The day he died, it was my turn to feed him. So I went up to his room with some soup, and he grabbed the collar of my shirt when I got close. Then he looked me in the eye. And for the first time in a long, long while, I saw my real father looking back at me,

not the degraded husk that the shadow fed off of I'm so sorry he said tell Gracie I never stopped loving you too then he drifted off and never woke back up

Gracie was his pet name for my mother I don't know how or why he was lucid in his final moments but I was crying a moment later I heard my mom screaming in the next room. I rushed to see what was the matter,

and she pointed at an open window. I saw it, she said. I saw the shadow. I knew what it was. Maybe it had drained enough of Dad to assume a physical shape, or maybe it let its scar down enough for her to see it. Whatever the case, my father went to the hospital, and there he finally died,

being peacefully asleep the whole time. He was 54 years old at the time And by mom's insistence An autopsy was carried out The results came back to us quickly My father's brain Was severely atrophied Being shrunken and shriveled down

To a fraction of the size it should have been You know how the brain is usually a greyish pink Well it had turned a sickly yellow brown And there was a translucent black liquid All over it pulling in the wrinkles and holes left by the memory eaters feeding. We were asked to sign something,

giving them permission to run tests to see if this was a new illness, but we have yet to hear back from them. Since then, I have been looking for answers. One person told me it was a prion disease, and a few others have suggested I get myself screened just in case it's genetic. I honestly don't know what to do.

Has anyone else heard of this memory eater? Has anyone else heard of this memory eater?