CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Something keeps posing me in my sleep" Creepypasta

Episode Date: June 23, 2021

GET THE AUTHOR'S LATEST BOOK HERE► https://www.amazon.com/Ghost-Tree-Bra...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Brandon Faircloth: 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-

This weekend I'm in a while I'm new as I'm not on think. Oh, that dossier that morning off must be more as I'm too

I'm too much as I'm on mad when I'm on mad as I'm not when I'm too much as I'm on the hang to come, give you self then a boost

with BioCure Maxshot Liquid three opept plants, magnesium, iceer, an energy booster to make sure to come

to comellom BioCur Maxshot Liquid. Foodingsupplement forcriag by the apotheker. It all started when my dad found the old car in the woods. I was away at college then, neither him or mom told me about it when it happened. Instead, they waited to bring it up over Thanksgiving dinner in a tensely casual way

that clearly wasn't casual at all. Like parents soft-pedaling news that they're turning a room into an office, or that, after a lot of thought, they've decided to separate for a while and see how things go. I could hear the nerves in my mother's voice as she first brought it up with a tight little laugh. They guessed they hadn't told me yet, but back a few weeks ago, my father had found an old car abandoned at the back of our land.

Or maybe, Dad added, abandoned wasn't the best word. There were two bodies inside, after all. I remember choking in my drink a little at that. My first thought was that I'd misheard or they were playing a joke on me, though that seemed out of character for my father. I glanced at his face,

and then my mother's told me all I needed to know. They were serious, and more than that, they seemed worried, or maybe he'd been scared. I asked what they were talking about. How did something like that happen? And my father told me that the police said

it was a married couple that had been missing for over five years. The working theory was, that he had driven them up a dirt-access road that ran along the back of our land and then turned into the trees. From there, they somehow navigated a path through the woods until they're in the hundred-acre wilderness behind the farmland we rarely even venture into these days. But in September of that year, my father had taken to walking in the woods some afternoons, and it was on one of these walks that he found an old brown sedan, wretched between two trees

and covered in layers of dirt and pollen and pine needles so thick he didn't even recognize it for what it was until he got close enough to touch it. And it wasn't until he spit onto the window and swiped a patch clean that he could see the bodies inside. Neither of them would say much more than that the missing couple was dead inside and it had been very strange and sad. When I pressed the issue, my mother changed the subject.

and between that and a forbidding look from my father, I let it drop. It wasn't until me and dad were out on the porch a few hours later that he brought it back up. Sorry to be so vague in thereabout, you know, the caravan in the woods. I looked around, surprised, less that he would talk to me about it than how he was speaking. A low, almost secretive tone that still seemed heavily corded with some sort of, kind of tension I didn't quite understand. Not that finding dead bodies in our woods wouldn't be freaky, but two months later, I didn't know why it was still affecting them so much.

But I just met his eyes and nodded. No problem. I paused for a moment, testing the air of conversation before going further in. So, what happened to them? Dad raised his eyebrows as he buffed out a small breath. I don't know for sure The cops called it a murder-suicide And maybe that's what it was

But Sheriff Perry and his couple of deputies Aren't good for much Beyond traffic tickets and breaking up a bar fight I think if there'd been a fuss from anyone It might have been looked into more But as it was Well, people talked about it a couple of weeks And then it was done

He took a sip of his beer At least for most people Who killed who and how? Were they from around here? He shook his head. No, they weren't even from Alabama. Came over from somewhere east of Columbus. No family that I know of

and no signs of what led them here to our middle of nowhere farm either. My father lit his lips nervously. The cops determined that the husband killed the wife and then shot himself. I frowned, You're being really careful. are you phrased of Dad? Is that what you think happened? What did you see? Turning around, he glanced in through the window to make sure Mom was still inside watching TV. Looking back

to me, he lowered his voice a little more. You can't mention this to her. She loves those words, and it was bad enough that I had to tell her what I found in the first place. I spared her the details, and if I tell you, you have to swear you won't peep a bit of it to her. His lips drew down slightly. I know I don't push him much beyond the edge of the woods, but we enjoy it, and I won't have that tainted for her,

you understand? I nodded as I took a shaky breath. Yeah, of course, yeah. He patted my leg and nodded as he offered me a brief smile. Okay, good. But then, the smile left as quickly as it had come,

and his expression became hard and wore it again, as he sent his words out to me across the night air. The first part, that's just like what we told you over dinner. I was out walking, thinking about trying to find a route I could turn into a chair-safe path for your mother. When I saw this mound of... Something through the trees am I right? That wound up being the car.

And like I said, I spit and white up the driver's side window until I could see inside a little. See that people are in there. It wouldn't look like a man laying his head on the shoulder of a woman in the passenger seat But it was still really darkened there I could have cleared away more of the dirt and leaves and such But once I saw people inside I panicked

Reaching down I yanked on the door It didn't open at first Not because it was locked But because it was stuck Cops said bodies left with rotting cars like that Can create a weird seal that makes it hard to open Still I didn't know that at the time and in my excitement and panic, I think I was still worried someone might be in there,

hurt or knocked out. So I yanked again, and this time the door came squealing open. The bodies were rotted, I guess, but in a weird way. They weren't gross or anything, and they reminded me of mummies more than skeletons, though they were kind of... Fat mummies. They looked more like people than I'd have expected, but weird at the same time. That's when I noticed all the strings. There were these red. I think of them as strings, but they were more like tendons or strips of leather or, I don't know. They were hard and stretched tight, thin lines of red that wrapped around those people's wrists and arms and head and, well, all over. I thought maybe it was dried blood or mold, but when I pulled up my flashlight,

I could see it looked like meat, like raw meat, coiling around them all over like snakes, before trailing out into the shadows of the car. I show my light to see where the strings all went, but they didn't go anywhere. They just stopped midair in a dozen different places I could see, full of tension like they were attached to something that filled the car, but that I couldn't see. I was reaching for one of them just to see what it felt like, when I saw it start. to uncurl from around the man's shoulder, uncurl and rise, almost like it was coming to meet me, so I ran. When I got to the house, I called 911, met the deputies here, and then led them into the woods, found the car and bodies easily enough, but all those strings, they were all gone.

They looked at the bodies before taking them out of the car. Scott Keller, one of the deputies, told me that the man wasn't just resting his head on the lady's shoulder. He'd been biting out the side of her neck when he shot himself in the head. I didn't ask any more questions after that. Didn't want to know more after that. And I didn't say anything about the red stuff I saw. Figured maybe I'd just been in shock and seeing things. By the next morning, the bodies and the car were both gone.

And, well, I guess that's it I expected him to laugh or look relieved to finally tell someone about what he saw but he didn't look any less worried than he had before not sure what to say I wound up starting with a question in the forefront of my mind both because I was curious

and because I could tell Dad didn't think he'd just imagine the strange stuff he'd seen in that car so what do you really think the red stuff was He sat for several seconds, staring out at the moonlight stretched out across the yard, and when he spoke, his voice sounded hollow and thin. I don't really know. I really did try to tell myself it was nothing, that I made it up somehow, but... He shrugged.

I wonder what would make a man do something like that. I blinked, caught off guard by the change of subject. Who do what? His voice was barely above a whisper now. He hurt his wife. I bet he loved her and he still did it, to her and to himself. Dad turned to me, his eyes wide. I mean, he would have had to, wouldn't he?

Um, was there someone else that could have done it? Did the police say that? He shook his head slowly, as though the motion required almost more effort than he had to give. No, nothing like that. I just... He sighed. I'm so tired.

I lean forward to catch his eye. Dad, are you okay? Offering me and Wayne's smile. He nodded and stood up slowly. Yeah, sure. I just haven't been sleeping well lately. He lowered his gaze. Been sleepwalking a bit, if you can believe it.

I went to say more, but then Mom was opening the door to ask if we were ready for pie. I almost brought it up again to him or mentioned some of it to her, despite my promise to keep my father's secret. Instead, I told myself I was making too much of it all. Overall, he acted like himself, and he was a middle-aged man who had his worries, as most everyone does. If the worst his mid-life crisis got was a bit of sleepwalking, I think we could handle it.

That Sunday, I hugged them goodbye and promised I'd be home the week before Christmas. I made it back to my apartment just before midnight, and by the time I fell asleep, I already knew I'd miss my early class. By Tuesday, I was back in the swing of things, though. On my way to work, when I got a call from a number I didn't recognize, but with the same area code from back home. when I answered Her voice introduced himself

as Sheriff Perry It told me That sometime Monday night My father murdered my mother And then killed himself The five years since have been difficult But as with most things

Time has caused the worst of it to fade At least a little I still think about my parents Every day feel guilty for not doing more every day wonder what could have happened to make Dad go crazy like he did every day but at least I don't hate myself anymore

and the pain left by their absence has been lessened by meeting Martina and having our little girl I have a good life bordering on a great life if I'm honest and for months now I've been simultaneously trying to give up the last of the grief and guilt I hold on to

while having this superstitious feeling that if I ever stop being sad and upset about it, all the good things I have will be taken away, some curse for not caring enough to be miserable. Maybe that's why, when I got the package from Russock County Sheriff's Office, I was filled with the combination of dread and perverse joy. Whatever it was, it had to be tied with my parents' death. Whatever it was, it was a way to pry open old wounds again.

What it was, after ten minutes of me staring at it and chewing my lip, was a note and a book. The note was from Sheriff Keller. It just said, This was the only thing taken from your parents' death investigation that wasn't a biohazard, was cleaning out old evidence and thought you might want it. Sorry again for your loss. The book was one of my mothers, a hardbound copy of Stranger in a Strange Land by Heinlein. Eyes, welling up with tears, I opened it up, planning to just flip through it before putting it back in the box.

My father's handwriting on the inner corner. Something keeps posing me in my sleep. I wake up in strange places with strange thoughts. I don't feel like me anymore. It's hard to feel anything. Anything but the strip. My hands were shaking as I reread my father's words. Sucking in a huge breath.

I began to fan through the pages for any other writing when I realized that the middle portion of the book was stuck together a thick section of the pages moving as one as I reached them frowning I gently tried to pry them apart and after a moment of resistance they split open in the middle revealing the thing holding them together it looked like a raw red wound thickly wet and penetrating multiple pages in both directions

it might have been a small, deformed heart if books had such a thing. I felt my stomach turn as the light caught its moist, shimmering surface, and I had the insane and horrifying thought that this was something my father had done. Some part of mom he had cut off

and hidden away in a favourite book. But no, this was far too fresh. And... It moved. I threw the book across the book across the room, shuddering as I stepped outside to collect my thoughts. It was stress. It had to be stress. Or was this something that had been in the evidence room that had been spilled under the book

before they sent it back? I needed to just go get it and throw it away. Getting it out of the house was the main thing. Heart hammering, I went back inside. Matina would be home with a baby soon. No need for them to ever know this was ever even here. I'd just pick it up, run it out to the trash can, and I stopped by the front door, staring at the book, dangling from one outstretched hand.

There were no stuck together pages now, no sign of anything weird or gross inside. Stepping out under the front steps, I flipped through the pages again. My father's writing was still on the inside of the front cover, but otherwise it was just a book. No raw, red horror waiting to get me from between the pages, shuddering at the memory. I started walking toward the trash can again. Nothing had really changed. I didn't want it in the house. Didn't want to think about it ever again if I could help it.

So, into the trash it went. And over the next few weeks, everything seems fine. Until... I started sleepwalking. I would wake up, standing in the kitchen or the yard. I'd be sitting down in the living room or bent over. like I was looking under the dining room table. My muscles would be tense and sore,

as though I've been exercising or positioned strangely for some time. But I never had any real sense of how I'd gotten to where I was or what I was doing in my sleep. Four nights ago, I woke up in the crawl space underneath the house. When I found a light, I saw there was a rope and a hammer under there with me, though I didn't remember ever using either under the house before. It freaked me out enough I got Martina to take the baby

and go stay at her mother's for a few days lied and said I was getting sick and didn't want our girl to get it for the next few nights if I walked I didn't know it I slept a ton and when I was awake I felt disconnected and strange

when my wife called about coming home yesterday I told her to come that I missed her and wanted a home that everything was A-O-K again when I woke up last night I was standing over our baby's crib A 20-pound rock from the garden

Held over my head I should have been horrified But I only felt mildly curious Why weren't my feet dirty Had I put on shoes Or gone the rock earlier in the day I bet I planned ahead Yes, planning ahead was always good

Quietly I eased the front door open and tossed the rock back outside. Everything wasn't right yet. Not yet. I could still feel worry and fear in my stomach, like a tiny man screaming as he got eaten up by my belly's acid. Yes.

Eating right up until there was nothing left to find. Stepping back inside, I saw my Tina's cell phone laying on the table where she left it when they come home. Laughing to myself, I pulled off the phone's case, and headed into the kitchen. After a moment of quiet probing,

I found a small velvet pen on the back of one of the drawers. When I was done, I put the case back on, just like it had been before. No one would know until it was all done. Climbing the stairs back to our bedroom, I chuckled again. Not yet, no, but soon enough.

Soon everything would be quiet and ready, and it would be good and right and wonderful. I thought again of what I'd written inside the phone case and beamed into the dark to a puppet. Strings are God.