CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Something Stalks the Old Roads of Montana" CreepyPasta

Episode Date: October 4, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Glock_Socks: 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►Arnaud Moro: https://www.behance.net/gallery/75288...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-

County calling Unit 4? My radio chirped. Four, I responded. Unit 4. Respond Code 2 to a one-car motor vehicle accident. Old Route 33 in the area of mile marker 44. Call a state he hit a deer. Vehicle, inoperable.

I sighed and put down my phone, putting my Chevy Tower in gear and gently pulling out of the parking lot I was comfortably sitting in. Unit 4 copies, responding, I said into the radio, putting it back. into its holder. Roger Unit 4.

Time of Dispatch 0239. Working third shift has its perks. Slow nights, not much to do, especially in a rural county here in Montana, where the only crime seemed to be boredom. Having been born and raised here, I knew this area like the back of my hand. I could navigate it in the dark, hell blindfolded, and I could tell you exactly where I was solely from the ground I was standing on. Not much really happened of no tear

The people kept to themselves They were friendly, humble and kind Some people worked in the city close by But most worked in their farms They were hunters, home bodies People preferred by their own solitude Rather than the hustle and bustle of bigger cities and towns The county I worked in as a deputy sheriff was large

So large in fact that it took over an hour Just to get from one side of my patrol route to the other It didn't bother me, and since most people here owned firearms, break-ins and property crimes were seldom. Our job was mostly to wrangle up the trunks at closing time and chase the cow that always seemed to wander out to their pastures. Tonight seemed to be no different. A passing motorist hit a deer. Quite common, really, especially with a large amount of space between houses and people. Animals pretty much had free roam with the place.

But I come to learn quickly. tonight wasn't like most nights. Tonight would show me that solitude, while often brings peace, can also bring horrors untold. The red and blue lights of my tower pierced through the moonlit sky while the terrain changed from asphalt

to gravel and dirt. Old Route 33 was never paved. The county maintained it, but decided to keep the tradition of dirt same as how our settlers traveled back in the day. The bumpy road shoveled me in my seat, making me groan with each bump, I passed mile marker 6.

I still had a long way to go before reaching the motorist. Reaching for the stereo, I winced as the usual station I listened to was only an ear-piercing static. Weird, I thought to myself, reception usually stays until at least marker 20. I thought nothing of it, turning off the radio, and instead listening to the gravel and dirt pushed from underneath my tires. The headlights of the SUV pushed far ahead. along with the flashing lights on the roof of my patrol car, giving me a clear view of what was ahead. I didn't go too fast. I mean, after all, how far could an inoperable car really go?

It'd still be there when I got there. Besides, the last thing I need is to hit an animal and ruin my car trying to get to him in the first place. I sighed and leaned back in my seat, wishing that morning would come and I could fall asleep. The miles kept coming, passing Marlmarker 17, not even halfway there. If it weren't for the constant shaking and rumbling of the loose stone and rocks beneath a car, I'd have easily drifted off. The road, straight as an arrow, kept going, and going. And going?

Wait, since when was that tree on the side of the road, I asked myself. A white birch tree, beautiful and standing tall. was always on the west side of the road. It was one of the few trees on this road. But tonight, it was on the east. I slowed my cruiser to a stop, checking the GPS on the windshield. Oh, I'm heading southbound, I softly said to myself. That tree was never on that side.

I sat there, looking at the tree. It was the same one I had my first kiss under. It was the same tree I lost my virginity under. but why was it there? Huh, must be the lack of sleep, I chuckled to myself, pushing down the accelerator slightly. Although I played it off as nothing, the thoughts still creaked into my head. Why was that there? There were very few trees on this road.

Hell, it was known as the rolling road for a reason. You could see for miles an end on either side, not an obstruction in sight. The road continued on. The light still shining in front of me. I chuckled. I really need to get on a decent sleep schedule, I said to myself, shaking my head to keep the sleep away. I passed mile marker 15. Wait, that can't be right.

I just passed 19, I said to myself, stopping my cruiser and backing up. The sign said mile marker 20. The hell? I whispered to myself. I put my cruiser back in drive and pulled forward. shaking my head once more at what I saw, or at least what I thought I saw. I was getting worried. I knew working the hours I did would at some point start taking a toll on me. But why now?

I've been working third shift for over three years. I've kept myself caffeinated. There was no reason my brain would fog twice like that in one night. I looked at the clock on the dashboard. 3.03. I still had three hours left in my shift, and I knew that it's a lot of. soon as I got home, I'd be sleeping. Malmarker 22.

All right, halfway there, I whispered to myself. Generally, I was a pretty stoke man. Growing up in a military family meant fear wasn't really an option. Emotions weren't either. So, when I was scared, it was answered with anger and disapproval. Zing, I kept trudging down the road, keeping tabs on the miles ahead, hoping the time would pass faster to clear this. call and to get the hell of this road and into bed.

Another Marmarker sign was coming up. 29. I was getting closer, thankfully. But it didn't read Marlmarker 29. Rather, it was missing. The stump of the missing sign was there. The pole still stood, but the sign was missing. I poured my cruiser to a stop and got out, shining my flashlight on it.

Unit 4, Cullen County. I said with a sigh. There was no answer, which was weird. Each patrol car had a radio repeater in it, which made sure we could always be in contact with dispatch. I checked my radio. It was on. The channel was right.

There's no reason I shouldn't be hearing back. Unit four calling County, I said again, this time in a more aggressive tone. No response once more. I pulled out my phone, but saw there was no self-service. Again, this was weird, since there were towers sporadic through the fields, making sure people had contact, even in the most desolate locations here. Nevertheless, I took a picture of the sign, making a note in the phone to call public works and let them know one of the

signs was gone. Probably some kids, I thought to myself. I looked at the photo, making sure it wasn't blurry or anything, but something caught my eye. Two glown orbs were seen in the far back of the photo. I was shaking and lifted my flashlight to where the orbs were in the photo. My flashlight was powerful, shining far into the darkened night, far into the field. But I saw nothing, it was empty. And that's another thing. It was quiet, very, very quiet. Even at night you could hear the crickets, the low murmur of a resting animal, even the soft shock, of an insect's movements. It was that quiet. Tonight, the only sound was the low hum of the idling engine. I looked at the photo once more, and back into the field. Maybe it was just a reflection.

Maybe the science holes produced those from the flash, I reasoned with myself. Surely there was an explanation. I didn't want to stay longer than I had to. I got back into my cruiser and tried the police radio once more. Unit 4 calling County, I said nervously. I heard a crackle, better than nothing. But still, no response came from the dispatchers. I switched the channel to the one that the state police used. They had a barracks in our county.

They helped us on calls from time to time. Deputy Steele calling state police, any trooper in the air? I said into the radio. No response. An eerie silence once more filled the car. That's not right, I said, that we're checking to make sure I had the right channel. I did, and yet no one answered. Now, I was scared, but I still had a call to respond to.

Putting it back in drive, I kept moving down the road, dreadfuling me as I drove further away from civilization. Mile marker 33, 34, 35. I was making good progress, and everything was normal. I chuckled to myself, knowing I was working myself up for nothing. At night, people get scared. People fear the dark. You can't blame them for that.

See, I was told it wasn't the dark we fear. Rather, what could be in the dark. But, with two bright headlights and enough emergency lights to rival 30 Christmas trees, darkness was no match. And yet, why could I barely see the wrong? road in front of me. The previous mile marker signs came from what seemed like nowhere, whereas they should have been

illuminated pretty far away from my headlights, even at a good distance. I came up on mile marker 36, the sign, like the previous, appearing from what seemed like nowhere. But what caught me off guard this time was a crudely painted 66 right after the first one. I stopped my cruiser and got out, sighing. Damn kids, a funny devil number, I said to myself. I snapped another photo of the sign. Do I dare look at it?

Do another set of orbs await me? I needed to make sure it was a good photo for my reports. Thankfully, no mysterious balls of light greeted me from the screen. I sighed and put my phone back in my uniform pocket, looking at the vandalized sign. I crouched down, looking at the crudely spray-painted sign. Wait, that's not spray paint, I said, looking close read it. Was that?

Blood. Spray paint isn't that thick, it isn't that drippy, unless it was fresh. I reached out of finger daringly and touched it. It didn't smell like paint. No, it smelled of iron. Unit 4, calling County, requesting assistance. I said nervously, begging, no, praying for an answer.

Alas, none would come, and I was met with yet again the silence of the night. The temperature was dropping rapidly, and even though this was quite possibly a crime scene, I had to reach that stranded motorist. If his car truly wasn't working, he could get hypothermia in there. I looked at my watch,

making sure to note the time for the report. Three. Oh, three. That can't be, I said to myself, completely befuddled that no time had passed. I had crossed miles of land, miles that should have taken me at least 15 minutes to get to where I was when I last check the time. I shook my watch, tapping on the screen. The time didn't change. My phone said the same, 303.

I stood up and quickly walked back to the patrol car, getting in and shutting the door. The dashboard clock said the same. 3.03. Slamming the cruiser in gear, I floored the pedal, the roar of the engine shredding the otherwise quiet road. I had to make it to the motorist. I had to get the hell out of here. I wasn't sleepy anymore. Adrenaline pumped through my body and fear riddle my bones. Darkness, silence, fear. Three perfect ingredients for a horror movie. And yet, this was real. It was raw and it was happy. to me. The mile signs flew by me. 37, 38, 39, 40. I was at 40, and I only had four more miles to go. At 60 miles per hour, even though the road wasn't suited for this speed,

would let me reach the car in four minutes. That's all I needed before seeing another human. Four minutes. I let out a sigh of relief. I could do this. I was close. I was going to make it. Through the darkness came a shape, a shape that was in the middle of the road. I slammed on my brakes, the wheels hurling gravel and dirt all around me while the figure came into view. My breath was arrhythmic, chest tight and heart pounding. A deer. A damn deer. I laughed to myself, taking a deep inhale. Damn, I laughed, running my hand through my hair.

She scared me. The deer was facing me. His tall antlers reflecting slightly against the headlights and emergency lights in my patrol car. I blinked the siren. And yet, he didn't move. He kept staring straight at me, not moving. Come on, buddy, I said, turning on the siren for a few seconds. Again, he didn't move, staying still.

Literally a deer in headlights, I laughed, putting the cruise in park and getting out. Come on, buddy, mush, go, I bellowed. He didn't move, nor did his eyes. I was a hunter. I have known plenty of deer that can spot a human hundreds of feet away. The slightest sound could scare them off. Yet the siren, nor my yelling, scared him. I took two steps forward, hand on my pistol, getting closer to it.

Buddy, hey, I whispered to it, making a click noise with my tongue to try. try to get his attention. The deer stayed, staring at my headlights, unmoving, and shaken. Stepping heel to toe, making as little noise as possible, I approached the animal. I was mere feet from it, and yet he didn't move. I reached out and touched it. Cold, very cold. Fur was warm.

Even after it's dead, the fur is always warm. I reached the padded side, get it to move away. With an open hand, I gently patted the side of the deer. Go, I bellowed. He didn't move. He fell over, stiff as a board, bouncing a bit as he hit the ground. He was dead. Shaking, panting, I stepped backwards, shaking my head.

The hell is going on, I asked myself loudly, looking around me. I looked up and knew I had to go. The moon and stars that filled the night sky were gone. It was black, like the moon was never a thing, like stars ceased to shine. This wasn't normal. It was a clear night only an hour ago, and the forecast was supposed to be clear. I took another look at the deer, still laying lifeless on the ground in front of my patrol car. With a shaky hand, I opened the door to my police car.

getting back in and shutting the door. Slamming it back and drive, I floored it, moving around a dead deer and racing down the road. There has to be an explanation for that, I thought to myself. It couldn't have just died right there. My thoughts were racing, desperate to come up with a reason why a deer would have died standing up in the middle of the road. 41, okay, I'm getting closer.

Three more, three more, I panted to myself, stealing myself to reality. Come on, man up. I shook myself, get myself back into it, shaking away the fear and worry from inside, pacing my breathing to get it normal again. Sighing in relief, I pushed my head against the headrest, still looking out ahead.

Get a damn grip, I whispered to myself, slamming the palm of my hand on the steering wheel. Speeding down the bumpy road, I got closer and closer. The mile marker signs growing in number. mile marker 44. I was there. Still, I saw no car, no flashing lights, no sign of an accident. I slow my speed and reached for the radio. Unit 4 calling County, I said into the radio. Not to my surprise, there was no answer. Figuring I should keep talking, maybe for my own sanity, or maybe someone

could hear me and I just couldn't hear them. Unit 4, Collin County, show me in the area of the accident, searching at this time. I put the radio back into its holder, shining the spotlight into the darkness around me, looking to see the car veered off the road. Other than pitch black,

there was nothing. No vehicle, no dead animal, just pitch black. The SUV kept moving forward, although slow, fast enough to drive fine this motorist. I wasn't sure if I was more excited to be done with this call, or just to know other humans are actually real. With the events transpired so far, I was skeptical. More dirt, more darkness, and more fear.

I had to be getting close now. The next mile marker sign had to be coming. I shine the spotlight ahead of me. And finally, I found it. One car hazard lights on the rear, brake lights shining. I could almost cry. I was so happy to have finally found it, but alone finding another human.

Unit 4 calling County, code 6 with the vehicle, I said into the radio. Why bother, I thought to myself, I ain't responding to you. No response, but no bother. I put the cruising park and got out. I shout my flashlight to the car, stepping quietly and slowly towards it.

Light grey smoke billowed from the engine block. damaged from the stuck animal. Sheriff's Department, I bellowed. I stepped closer, moving my hand to my holster, pushing down the hood and putting my thumb on the release. Sheriff's Department, I bellowed again. I stepped closer, shining my flashlight into the car. There was a man laying in the front seat.

Head rolled back against the headrest. Sir, sir, do you need help? I asked, taking my hand off the gun and rushing to the driver's side door. I kept my flashlight shined on him, noting his eyes were clenched shut. I took a good look at the man. His face was covered in blood, his hands too. My breathing turned rapid again, taking my eyes off of him for a second to look at the front of the car.

There was no deer, but damn was there a lot of blood. Too much blood for any animal to survive. I wanted to take a closer look, but was startled by the men in the front seat. I snapped back to him, shining the flashlight at him. Sir, and with the sheriff's department, are you all right? I asked him, leaning down. The man's eyes snapped open. And I gasp.

There was no pupil, no iris, white like the moon that still didn't shine. A bloody hand opened the door, now scratching against the plastic of the handle. Taking a step back, my hand found the holster again, thumbing at the release. Sir, I think you need an ambulance, I said, trying to keep composed. The door swung open, and I gulped. The hand that opened the door was frail, white like a ghost. The nails were longer than daggers, pointed at the end and covered in blood. I brought the light back up to the man as he stepped out, growing and growing and growing.

He towered over me, at least seven feet tall. The flashlight illuminated his body. tattered clothes, staining blood, and other substances I prayed weren't human. His legs shook like a newborn deer, covered only by jeans that didn't fit, standing barefoot in front of me. I took another step back, hand on my gun and another on the light. Hey, you've been in an accident. Think you need to sit down, I said. His head snapped left, right, up and down. Almost inhuman and how fast he made them. His neck snapped at me.

The soulless eyes somehow pierced through me, shaking me to my core. Sir? I stammered. Then. He smiled. The teeth weren't human. They were sharp, sharp like a shark teeth. They weren't neatly in rows, nor did they have any semblance of structure.

And by God, staining blood and what looked to be bone and muscle. What the hell? whispered to myself. He took a step forward, and I took a step back, stumbling but holding myself. Stop, I beckoned, ordering him, although my voice faltered. The man, dare I say man, but the man stopped and looked at me with his white eyes. He opened his mouth, and it unhinged like a snake. Rows and rows of more blood-stained teeth shined through my light, and a howl of ungodly noise pierced to the night. The thing brought his head back and cried out louder, making a noise I've never heard before. I took another step back and fell over, landing hard on my back.

The thing's head snapped down to me, an evil grin spreading across his mouth that was way too big for his face. One step, two steps, three steps. Stop, I said loudly. Four steps. He was getting closer. Stop! I bellowed again But he didn't It didn't I'd holstered my handgun And pointed it at him

He didn't stop I know he saw my gun He had to have Most people will stop at the sight of a gun But he It whatever the damn thing was Didn't The thing just took another step toward me

The cracking of its bones and body Made me shiver in terror My Glock was shaking my hand, finger resting on the trigger guard. I will shoot. Stop where you are, I bellowed, getting up on one knee. Once more, the man rolled his head back, letting out another guitar or scream, making my head hurt and my ears ring. The neck of the man snapped back down, an unholy noise came through as his eyes locked onto mine. One step, this time faster, closing the distance.

I put my finger on the trigger and squeeze. The gunshot echoed through the night, the sharp recoil stinging my cold hand and the hot shell bounce of the ground next to me. I saw it hit in centre mass, and yet he only stumbled. He took two steps back, and he chuckled. The damn thing chuckled. I stood up now, knowing high distance, and tried to backpedal towards my car. Another noise from him And those teeth

God those teeth He was now in a full sprint I squeezed the trigger again Dropping my flashlight to get a better grip on my gun Opting to turn on the flashlight mounted on it Three, four Five gunshots All sent a mass on him

And he only laughed and screamed That noise that made my blood turn cold The man stumbled back Looking down at his chest There was no blood from where I shot him I could see the holes, I could see where my rounds landed, and yet he didn't bleed. Screw this, I whispered to myself, finally making it back to the hood of my police car. I leaned against the rambar while the man charged me again, not stopping, only lolling his head back and forth, letting out another screech.

With ringing ears and two steady hands, I fired again and again and again, pushing him back with each round that hit his torso. The gun snapped back and I pulled the trigger again, but nothing came out. A quick look over my gun determined I fired the entire magazine, all 18 rounds, and yet he didn't go down. He still stood there, flashing those razor sharp and blood-covered teeth. I dropped the magazine, quickly slapping in a new one and releasing the slide, backpedaling towards my cruiser and getting in. Slamming the door shut, I put the cruise in reverse, not daring take my eyes off whatever the hell was in front of me. Even through the roar of the engine, the man's screams pierced through, making me wince and shut my eyes to try dull the sound. Dirt kicked up from a cruiser, clouded

the sight of him, using this time to spin the cruiser round and floor the pedal, not caring for the damage I was doing to the car. I kept looking in my rearview, and the only thing I saw was a cloud of dust, and the emergency lights reflecting off of it. The cruiser buckled and shook, making noises I knew weren't good for it, but I knew I had to get the hell out of there. Marlmarker 45. No, no, I'd turn my car around. Those numbers shouldn't be going up.

They should be going down. Malmarker 46666. I was shaking, panting, terrified like I've never felt before. Punishing the cruiser as I sped through the night, the mirror showing nothing, only dust. I had to have lost it by now. I had to have. Mile marker, hell.

Tears cladded my vision. I wiped them away quickly, trying to keep my eyes on the road. The GPS showed I was going northbound. I was going the right way to go home, and yet the landscape proved otherwise. Mile marker, 40. I was going the right way. I sighed in relief, but I didn't dare to slow my pace, keeping the pedal flawed and the engine roaring. the dead deer was gone.

Nowhere to be seen where it laid when I came by earlier. I know that it was the spot. And yet, it's as if the deer had simply got up and left right after I did. Shaking my head and wiping more tears, I kept moving, passing mile markers that finally showed the right numbers. Mile marker 30. I was getting closer, free from whatever the hell I just wandered into. The hell, the hell, I bellowed. slamming my palm onto the steering wheel.

My watch lit up. It was still 303. Sobbing and shaking, I kept going, keeping my handgun on the passenger seat for easy access. God forbid that thing appeared again. There, there was a tree, the tree from earlier, and now it was... On the right side of the road?

How did it just move like that? That was on the other side of the road. It can't be. Pull it together. steel, pull it together, I said to myself, do my best to calm down while the road kept going on and on in front of me. Light, I saw light. A quick peek through the windshield showed the moon and stars, shining bright like they were before. I was getting closer to the main road. I just, I had to make it. The SUV buckled under the dip in the road, items thrown all over the cabin

as the car lurched back, but kept steady. Here we go. Here we go, we got this, I whispered to myself, really showing myself that I'd seen the end of this. There it was, the asphalt road, the old sign that showed old route 33. I made it, and as soon as the tires connected to the asphalt, I didn't dare look back,

the same as I didn't dare to let my foot of the accelerator. Cars passed by, pulling over from my red and blue light while I sped down the road. I let out a shaky breath, pulling into a gas station, and shutting off the light. Pulling around back, I put my car in park, crying tears of pain and joy,

knowing I made it back to safety. County calling Unit 4, the radio called out. I sniffled, so happy to hear the voice again. Any voice, really. Go ahead, I stammered through tears. Unit 4, disregard the stranded motorist. Caller states, he's got the car running, and he's all set. No officers needed.

I didn't dare question it. I didn't care to look into it. Unit 4. Copy, I said through panting breaths. Copy, showing you code 4. Time of call termination, 0303. I looked at the clock.

It was actually 303 in the morning. My eyes never faltered from the clock, staring in fear until it turned. 3. 04. I sighed and put my head against the headrest. I made it. I made it out.

I went home. I called out for the rest of the night, saying I was sick and needed to lie down. I went home and slept, pretending that it was all a bad dream. But I promise you, it wasn't a bad dream. It was real. The bullets fight for my gun were real. The dirt and mud caked on my patrol car is real. I think

I may have accidentally stumbled onto the gateway to hell I don't know how else to describe the events that occurred or how the time just didn't seem to change until I was free of that godforsaken road A final note to you all Having survived what I did If you ever find yourself from Montana

Don't break down on old Route 33