CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "‘The Children’s Play Area is Closed’" Creepypasta

Episode Date: February 11, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Darkly_Gathers: 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►Daniel Medina: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/bK...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-

The children's play area is closed. It's a simple sign. Black text and white laminated paper. We're the fast food chain's logo in the bottom right corner. The restaurant is closed now. Silvery starlight filters in through the wall-sized windows all around us. The peeling posters and the various stands and trash bins cast overlapping and curious shadows. It wasn't hard to break in.

Would you believe they didn't even bother to lock the doors? The restaurant stands essentially alone along one of America's longest, most forested stretches of highway. There's an unmanned gas station opposite. One lone flickering neon bar is the station's only source of light. It casts a watery, pale blue aura across the pumps. A line of far-spaced and skeletal transmission towers stretch away above the treetops

in a straight line in both directions, perpendicular to the road, but in terms of man-main structures, that's pretty much it. There are no street lamps, no buildings, just sprawling, endless forest, silver-tinted pines in the darkness.

I turn my attention from the view outside back to the restaurant's interior. Eliza is fiddling with a locked door, the one with a sign on it. The children's play area is closed. Her tongue sticks out from her mouth at an angle, and her eyebrows are furrowed. Come on, she mutters to herself, adjusting her little tool set. Do you think you can open it, I ask her.

Oh, I'll be able to open it, she replies. Just thought I'd have it by now. It's okay. We're not in any bit of gluck rush. But still, I think to myself, glancing once again, through the windows. The woods stretch away, out into the darkness. We've stopped here three times, Eliza and I, en route to our actual destinations.

The first time was about six months ago, stopped for food. Second time was just before Christmas. That's when we noticed that the sign was still up. We had some idle chit-chat about it. Third time was last week. We stopped for gas, and I made us scy-all. come in to see if the sign was still up, and of course it was. Throw in the knowledge that someone supposedly died here, discovered by Eliza during a late-night

forum search, and that was our interest, well and truly peaked. We were hooked, and so we find ourselves back here once again, creeping around in the middle of the night, snooping. We live for stuff like this, Eliza and I. I rest against a nearby counter and admire the artwork on the walls as Eliza continues muttering to herself. I use the term admire and artwork quite loosely. Most of the walls are just glass, affording a view to the forest beyond.

But of those that are solid, crude cartoon characters have been painted across them, off-color Looney Tunes clones. One of them looks like it could be a Super Mario character, I don't know. They look weird in the dark. Their expressions don't seem quite so clear. Like they're less happy to be here, almost. I look away.

The door clicks. Gotcha, Eliza murmurs, looking up at me with a shine in her eyes. She reaches up to the handle and gently pulls. And with a creak, the door starts to drift open. This must be the murder scene, surely. if someone did indeed die here once upon a time. We've searched the rest of the place, and hell, while they keep a perfectly good play area

all locked up for so long, unless they had something to hide. That's no guarantee, Eliza had replied one evening with a shake of her head. Could just be a health and safety thing, maintenance costs or whatever. Yeah, but that's boring, I'd replied. Far too boring to be true.

It was only a joke, but it seems now like I might have been right Eliza and I stare open-mouthed as the door opens all the way up beyond it and draped in shadow and dust is a pretty standard-looking kid's play zone phone padded poles create a structure

in which a child could climb there's a plexiglass dome window sticking out from one of the upper levels and a couple of slides These are not what draws our attention, however. What fascinates us about the scene ahead is the bizarre staircase in the floor, revealed by an open panel of flooring, leading down into darkness deeper still. What the hell is this? Eliza murmurs, stepping closer.

Jesus, I echo, stepping to the edge and peering down. I look back to Eliza. I mean, we're going down, right? She rolls her eyes. Ah, yeah, we're going down. Come on, let's do this. And so we do. With one final cautious look back into the empty restaurant,

we descend the stairs. They're pretty narrow, so we go in single file with me at the front. My flashlight illuminates the way ahead. Down we go. The sound of our breathing becomes like. louder in the enclosed space. The stairs go forwards and backwards, but always down.

Deeper and deeper and deeper and further and further below the surface. Kind of freaked about this, not going to lie, I muttered to her. Baby, she replies. But she feels the same. I can hear it in a voice. The stairs do, of course, eventually come to an end. They lead us into a dark and cavernous subterranean hall. everything structural is black

there are black pillars between random stretches of black wall the floor is cold black concrete and with the gaps through the pillars and walls allow us to see there is nothing I shine the flashlight all around me I cannot see the edge I try to force a laugh but cold sweat butts on the back of my neck

Eliza takes a step closer to me I feel a shoulder against my arm This is messed up, Xavier, she says quietly. Is this some kind of basement, storage? Why the ceiling so high? Why is it so deep below the ground? I don't know, I reply, stepping up to the nearest stretch of wall. Something has caught my eye.

A faded, dank-stained piece of paper with some scribbled colour across it. I peer closer. It's a drawing. Savior, Eliza begins, but she doesn't finish. The drawing is crude, made using block-color crayons. It depicts a family, a man and a woman, and between them holding their hands. A kid, a girl by the looks of it, she wears a blue skirt and she's smiling. On the right-hand side of the page beside the dad is a brown splodge with two eyes and two.

two ears. Could be a dog. That's the creepiest thing I've ever seen, Eliza mutters after a beat. She's right. It is creepy. A creepy kid's drawing down here in the dark. But still, I think it's nice.

I rely on playing devil's abdicat. And it is, kind of. In any other context, it would be lovely. She has talent, I finish. taping the picture back to the wall where I found it. A cold chill blows between the walls and pillars,

and Eliza grips me suddenly much tighter. Maybe this was a bad idea, Dave, she says. Maybe we should just go back upstairs. Now who's the baby, I whisper back, chuckling, leading her on into the darkness by the hand. This might have proved to be a mistake. To tell the truth, I'd rather head back up to the surface also. But we've committed now, best to press on.

Our footsteps echo as we explore. There are more drawings down here. Some of them are pictures on torn paper and tacked to the wall. Some are scrawled across the walls themselves in white chalk. They become more numerous the further we go in. They seem to be of slightly better quality than the one by the stairs. But they're still not great. and they all depict the same thing.

A girl, a child, all by herself. The colours of her clothes vary, but she always has long brown hair, and her hair is always done in the same exact style. Hey, I realise after a few minutes of walking, of exploring, she kind of looks like you, don't you think? What the hell, Eliza? retorts, why would you say that? She stops

and a breathing gets really shallow. Wait, Eliza, are you okay? You know I was only joking. I go to her at once, suddenly concerned that I might have taken things too far. Eliza is not coping as well as I thought she was. This

isn't like her. I think we might need to head back. Eliza, I'm sorry. Look, let's just head back up, okay? We don't need to go any further. As I'm comforting her and calming her down, I can't help but glance to one of the drawings stuck to the wall behind her. This one is larger than most of the others,

not quite to the same size as the chalk drawings, but bigger than its other paper counterparts. The edges are frayed and black. It depicts, as the others do, the girl. Her hands are folded in front of a body, her eyes are downcast and she looks sad I follow the drawings line of sight

on the ground slent up against the walls and hidden in shadow are a series of kids' books colour by numbers there's a torn catalogue from Clare's riddled with mould and a torn plush doll

its head lulled to the side and reality hits what the hell are we doing? Genuinely, why? Why did we think that it was a good idea to come down here? My heart starts to race, but I have to hold it together. No use in both of us panicking.

I grab Eliza's hand and start to lead her back the way we came. We're heading up, okay? We're heading up. It's all right, it's all right. But almost as soon as I've started to move, I freeze and we come to a sudden stop. A second of this cold gusts of air rumbles by from someplace unknown, and it chills my skin. I can feel Eliza digger fingers into my palm, but the pain does not register just yet.

My adrenaline has spiked. Just ahead and through the pillars, a silver-white mist has begun to creep its way towards us, slowly cascading, drawing closer, and amidst this fog-like approach are a dozen little girls. Their eyes glow softly in the surrounding void. They drift with a mist through the darkness. They vary in height and appearance, but they all look roughly similar to the girl in the drawings. They all have the same hair at least.

Their faces show nothing but sadness, sadness and rage. The verse of these spectres bears the teeth. She screams. The noise is horrific. As if in a dream, a nightmare, we turn tail and run. Screams echo through the darkness as we barrel our way through the void and pass pillar after pillar. I accidentally slam my shoulder into one of the black outcrops of wall and cry out in pain, but Eliza drags me forward.

On we go through the darkness as we try to flee the encroaching mist and the mist's inhabitants. But wherever we go, that creeping silver mist finds its way to us, from different places each time, from around secretive walls and from pipes on the ceiling, it just keeps coming. Eyes glow through the fog as panic rises, and it isn't long before we are surrounded. Xavier, Eliza screams, what do we do? Please, I shout out into the mist, just stop. and in this last desperate instant the dark shape bursts from the final vestige of shadows I swear my heart is about to burst through my chest with fear

but the shape does not attack us nor approach us the shape is a man and he throws himself between us and the mist stop he cries out to the encroaching swirl leave them alone leave them alone monsters and fakes he turns to us It is a man adorned in ragged dark clothes and shockingly pale, sickly looking and ill.

Quickly, he urges us, grabbing me by the shoulder, looking into Eliza's face, follow me, and he takes off at once through a gap in the mist. We look at each other, but realize we have essentially no choice. We take after him as fast as we can, lungs still burning until we catch up. He mutters to himself as he spins round a great wheel on a black door built into a section of wall and with a great creaking groan he holds it open There is a small flickering lamp inside Some benches what looks like some cupboards in a bed

He pushes his way inside and beckons us to follow Quickly damn it and close the door behind you We do as he says Eliza goes first and I bring up the rear staring into the silvery darkness as the mist approaches, and with a grunt I drag the heavy door shut with a boom. The mysterious man collapses onto his bed, with his head in his hands,

and Eliza and I do much the same onto the benches. We are quiet for a few long minutes processing, composing ourselves as best we can. I break the eventual silence with what I feel is owed. Thank you. I say at last to the man. Thanks. He looks up and slowly swings his legs around,

leaning forwards towards us and resting his elbows on his knees. Don't mention it. They grow angrier by the day, and a small part of me doesn't blame him. Please, how do we get out? Eliza asks. The man turns to look at her and regards her. The stairs back up to the surface

are more or less just behind this room, he says. I'll take you back there once the danger is dispersed. The lamp flickers. The level of light and the room is low. What the hell is this place? I ask him. What are you doing down here?

The man glances at his watch. He angles his wrist to the light so that he can read the time, then sighs. I have a story to share. If you would hear it, it'll only take a few minutes. The mists will have parted by then. Elizra and I exchange a look. She shifts uncomfortably, but neither of us can say a word, and the man takes this as his cue to continue.

Many, many years ago now, he begins his voice low. I was a troubled and lonely young boy. Before the construction of the restaurant, there was an indoor playpen upstairs of sorts. My father used to drop me off here and leave me for the length of the day. Almost every day, in fact. The man shifts and size. And what child wouldn't wish to spend their days in a playpen?

Endless fun, no. Well, no, as it turns out. As with most places, I was a quick and easy target for bullies, as soon as they caught centre my weakness. Well, that was that. They used to haul me down in sections of the playpen, unseen by adults, and there were always too few adults. They used to draw on me or hurt me.

He flinches. Sometimes they would cut me with sharp tools. My mouth is dry. I glance back to the door. Eliza feels it too. We won't be able to just spring up and run should we choose to do so. The wheel and the door will need to be unspun so that we can escape. That will take time.

I look back to the man at the far side of the room. This stranger. And what? What is he doing here? Living down here alone in the dark. I tried to take one of my teeth once. He says quietly. Why would they do this?

A chance to play dentist perhaps with an actual subject. And I dare say they would have done it too. Or at least gotten further than just injuring my gums. Had Heather not stopped them? A flicker of a smile crosses the man's face. Heather, my soulmate, she saved me, and she continues to save me. The man fidgets. My pulse has once again begun to raise.

She sounds like a great person, I begin, but I really think we should be. She saved me from them. She was brave, confident. She told them where to go. They laughed at me for needing rescuing, for needing rescuing by a girl of all people. but regardless they backed off. The man rises to a stand. I realize just how tall he is,

despite how crooked and hunched he appears. His hands are clasped behind his back. I did everything I could from that moment on to show my affection, to show my thanks. His smile falters, but she began to push me away. She was polite at first, but she did not want me around. Her words felt sharper than those of the others. They hurt me the most.

The man twitches. Heather stopped coming one day. She just stopped coming. She was never there as frequently as I was, of course. But one day she disappeared altogether. The man had begun tapping his foot against the tile. So I disappeared too. And I promised myself that one day I would find her again.

His eyes flicker over to Eliza. And today, I think, could be that day. He takes a step towards her. Heather, he whispers, This story sounds familiar, does it not? Is it you, my sweet? Eliza has risen from the bench and backed herself against the wall. No, I'm sorry, you have the wrong person.

My name is Eliza. She suits me, her panicked love. look, and I started to slowly move my way over, putting myself between them. Let's just stay cool, I begin warily. And the mist? I asked the man, trying to change the subject. Who were the girls in the mist? You called them fakes, Eliza murmurs quietly. That's right, the man mutters.

They were fakes. All of them fakes. Deceivers. None of them were the real heather. But what are they? I ask. The man's eyes remained fixed on Eliza. They are monsters, ghosts, dead things, lingering where they are not wanted.

We need to go. We need to get out. How did they die? Eliza asks in a voice that is almost inaudible. I gave them what they deserved. The man whispers in reply. I killed them. Eliza, the door.

I shout, jumping directly between them. And as quick as a flash, the man raises his arm up over his head and brings down a brick. He must have been holding it this entire time. I catch a brief glimpse and raise my hands in automatic defence, and it smacks down hard against my head. I dropped to the floor as a dull ringing reverberates through my skull. I can vaguely hear Eliza shouting my name. Something pushes past my leg. I think...

The door? I think she managed to open the door. I groaned on the floor, head spinning. Blood runs down my arm. I was able to cover my head a little before impact, and one of my hands took the brunt of the blow. I think the bones are likely broken, but my brain struggles to process all the stimuli at once.

The pain would largely come later, I should think. I could see the man in the dark clothes grappling with Eliza through my blurred vision. Heather, he shrieks. Is it you? You're so much older. How? How is it possible that you've aged whilst I've remained the same?

We should be together. Please stop. Get off me. Eliza cries. The limbs merge together in my vision as they struggle. Come up, Xavier, I urge myself. Eliza is in trouble. You have to get up.

Get up. I grunt and shake as I roll myself over. clambering up onto an elbow. But the man in dark clothes is starting to drag her away into the shadows. He has her around the neck. Save you! She screams.

Help! Help! Eliza! I tried to call out in return. But he sounds sluggish and what? I'm going to lose her, I realize. I'm going to lose her to the dark and I'll never see her again.

And just as these thoughts come through, this dark begins to rapidly recede. I crawl out through the open doorway and into the main hall, and an arc of misty light begins to shine all around us coming from the distance. The pillars are stark in their contrast. As my vision returns, I see those familiar forms in the silvery smoke. I see the young girls, all similar in appearance, all with that same dark hair, still sad and still angry. But it is not directed at us, I realize, with a sudden search of hope. The man is trapped in the middle.

He still has Liza by the throat, but he looks from side to side, panicking. Stay back, he warns. You can't take her from me again. She's mine. I found her at long last. One of the girls opens her mouth to scream. The sound is dreadful and shrill, an icy wind that blows throughout the cavern. She is joined by another and another, and the noise rises and rises.

And when I think I can bear it no longer, the man in dark clothes releases Eliza, so as to cover his ears, screaming himself as he staggers quickly away into the shadow, yelling obscenities, swearing. I stagger to my feet, stumbling and slipping and falling, slamming a knee down into the concrete. I try again, and this time I may be. able to go further, collapsing at Eliza's side, doing my best to reassure her and calm her. It's okay, it's okay, come on, we have to go. She stares around us, watching as the ghostly girls drift and wail overhead. Come on, come on! And last she seems to snap out of it.

I tried to help her up, though it ends up more as her helping me, and together we race around the zes. stranger's little room. The stairs are in sight at least. I suppose he was telling the truth. Past black pillars and shadowy walls we go. We've done a loop, it would seem, and approached the base of the staircase from the opposite direction. It's okay. We're nearly out. We're nearly out. And at our approach, we find herself stumbling to a stop. Staring, staring down, had a ghostly little girl. She is sitting in front of the stairs at the base of the wall opposite.

She's drawing something on a piece of paper with a few colourful crayons. She looks up at us as we approach, then looks up to the drawing taped to the wall above her head, the one of the family with a dog. She looks back to me. Thank you for liking my drawing, she says, and she smiles. Cautiously, I smile back.

You're welcome, I say quietly, and she goes back to a doodling. A moment later, and she is gone. Like a whisper smoke in the wind. I squeeze tightly to Liza's hand, without another word. We ascend back up the stairs, step by step. It feels longer. on the way up somehow. And at last, we return to the restaurant.

That silvery starlight is still streaming through the wide glass pane windows. We turn and we close the door to the play area tight shut behind us. The children's play area is closed, reads the sign. We've been back since the dramatic night. We debated on telling someone what we found and decided that it was simply the right thing to do.

But as we drove past it once more just a week later. We were surprised to see that such might not be necessary. The whole restaurant has closed down. There were cop cars and vans parked up all over, beneath the overhanging branches of the surrounding forest. Eliza and I went up to an officer to ask what they found. Discovery has been made beneath a facility, is all he said.

A decade's old case, likely to be closed in the coming weeks. Maybe a few more had that. sniffed. Someone opened up some long locked door and some kid pushed through it the other day. His parents went to get him and found, well, something they found worthy of telling the owners about. Put it that way. The officer shifts. Probably shouldn't be saying all this, he tips his hat. Have a nice day, folks. We glanced behind him to see what looks like a body beneath a sheet, being carried out to a waiting van.

Thanks, I reply, exchanging a look with Eliza. We will.