CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The Door With The Ivory Handle" Creepypasta

Episode Date: January 12, 2021

AUTHOR'S SITE► https://www.floorfiftyfour.co.uk/CREEPYPASTA STORY►by RyanHatesMilk: 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-

It's strange how someone can have an impact on your life without being around. For me, that person is my grandfather. I never knew him, never even laid eyes on him, and yet his absence in my family cast so large a shadow who was almost a presence in itself. We would see him in my mother's stiffened face whenever we asked about him. We would hear him during my grandmother's long silences, twisting a wedding ring in endless circles, staring into space.

We would feel him in the world. walls of his great house, built from the fortunes of his antiques empire, his collection hidden away or shrouded from view. He did not feature in any of the empty photo frames, and yet, even as a child, I knew it was still his house. My grandmother just lived in it. His employee still worked, hustling and bustling with deliveries. Items bought and sold in his name still brought money to my family. But there was a hole inside that house, and within our lives, a silence that screamed of betrayal, abandonment, and unanswered questions. Ran off with some young lass, I overheard one of the movers say one day. He grunted as he lowered a chest of drawers,

lacquered oak shimmering in the afternoon sun. My sister and I were playing hide-and-seek, and so they had no idea I was eavesdropping. I stayed in my hiding place, peaking, between ruffled dust sheets. There was a soft thunk as a leg settled on the polished wooden floor, and the men let out a sigh of relief. That's what I reckon anyway. Nah, said the other voice dismissively. You do that, you take your money with you.

My ears strained away through their accents. I knew exactly who they were talking about, and this sort of gossip was far more than I was ever likely to hear from any of my family. So, what do you think then? asked the more well-spoken voice, the new boy most likely. I had something of a crush on him. Some are dodgy, said the dismissive voice. Another grunt, another thud.

Where do you want this one? Over by the grandfather clock, please. There was a pause, and the new boy lowered his voice. What do you mean, dodgy? Come on, lad, heaved the dismissive mover through gritter teeth. They shuffled across the floor until I could barely see him. them and plunk down the cabinet. You don't get this kind of cheddar without doing something rotten.

Ted thinks he were murdered, said the first mover, resting a hairy arm on the cabinet as he caught his breath. In my hiding place, I held my breath and shifted, trying to get a better view. Despite the July heat, their conversation made the air feel so very cold. I shivered and hugged myself. By who? asked the new boy. then, after a pause, added,

take this one and the celerate over there. Well, he was stealing from the Chinese, paying bribes of the Russians, uncutting the Americans and dodging taxes over here, said Ted, as the men moved back into view, and that's just what we know about him. Mark my words, lad. We'll open these crates one day and find what's left of him,

stuffed inside, just bones and teeth. I closed my eyes and kept my tears silent. I broke laughter burst from the two, gruff men, and at first I feared they could see me. But when I peeked back at them, they were watching the new boy, struggling with a cargo crate. They effortlessly plugged it from his arms and set it down on the trolley. Leave the lifting to us, lad, Ted said as they carted the stock out of the room. You just tick them boxes. Their chuckles faded from the room, and even when they were gone, I didn't cry out loud. Just clutched my knees and felt tears trickled down my cheeks.

When My Zee found me several minutes later, I was still there, but I didn't feel like playing hide-and-seek anymore. Why are you crying? She asked quietly, tilting her head before shuffling over to sit next to me. She was three years younger than me, and was always such a tender soul. She leaned over and kissed my head softly, as though it would make me better, like our mother would when we fell over and scraped our knees. I didn't tell her, of course. I was far too protective for that.

If I told her why I was crying, she would cry too. I wiped my tears away and flashed the smile. Let's play something else. There were plenty of games to play when we visited our grandmother. In a house that size, with countless treasures and mysteries, even an adult could lose hours exploring and perusing. Two little girls could play forever. We could dance in the empty rooms

or listen to our echoes in the cavernous hallways. We could live a million lives amongst vintage furniture Trying on dusty topats While having sword fights with silver-capped canes We could drape ourselves in dust sheets And pretend to be ghosts or birds or airplanes Running around with our flapping cloth cloaks trailing behind us But new stock brought new guessing games

Hidden under the sheets that cover them Were antiques freshly brought Ready to sell or ready to be restored to former glories It will be years before I learned the intricacies behind the business, but as a child, it was close to magic. Most objects were easy. The sheets barely hid their outline, but a blacky shape that looked like a table could end up being a stack of paintings,

a freestanding chessboard, or a sealed crate with yet more mysteries lurking in tide. We made our way through the fresh inventory, but I let my sister pull off the sheets, and barely guessed, lost in thought. What if our grandfather was still in one of these by these books? boxes, desperate to get out, trapped in the dark. Where are you going? I heard Misey ask. My eyes focused and I realised I was halfway out the door, staring down the corridor, towards the door with the ivory handle.

Grandmother didn't have many rules for us to follow. Don't break anything, don't irritate the staff. But the one she always insisted on was don't go into the room with the ivory handle. She never explained why. She simply forbade it, quick and clean. I'd always figured there were valuables in there she didn't trust the children. The door wasn't locked, and I'd seen the staff go in there a few times, but only the most senior staff were allowed through this corridor,

senior staff, and family. I glanced back at Misey and nodded for her to follow. She followed, and together we made her way down the corridor, empty photo frames hanging ominously above us. I always wish they just put something in them Photos are my mother or us Landscapes, art Anything really

Even taking them down would have been better than leaving them empty Like gilded tombstones Approaching the door It was impossible not to feel small The black panel door towered over us And had a way of looking heavy Without having ever so much has touched it Somehow my mind knew the weight of it

With dry lips, I reached out to the handle. My fingers hovered, afraid it might burn to touch. Footsteps made me snatch my hand away, and I turned on my heels, babbling nervous gibberish to my sister. Lucille, my least favourite administrator stalked past, her heels clicked clacking. She ignored us completely as she passed. I don't think she cared for children, or not for us at least. I always thought she looked shriveled up, like a piece of fruit, left out in the sun.

Are we going to get in trouble? whispered Misey after Lucille had left our view. No, I said with a smile. Of course not. But I knew it was too risky to try whilst the staff was still here. In a couple of hours they would finish and it would just be us and our grandmother. So I race Misey to the gardens and we practiced cartwheels.

But even in the summer sun, I couldn't get the image of my grandfather out of my mind, pressed in tight. clawing at the wooden inside of his box-shaped grave, pleading for us to find him. The staff left at 5 o'clock, and we had dinner with our grandmother. Afterwards, we usually sat and did puzzles or drew pictures, but because the sun was still shining, our grandmother said we could keep playing outside if we wanted to. We did, but only until she took her eyes off us.

Then we took off inside, sneaking towards the door with the ivory handle. The house was a different place with the staff gone. Even in full daylight, it somehow felt larger and more foreboding. Mises fingers found my hand and held it as we walked. The ivory handle glistened as if inviting us. Looking closely, I saw it had golden leaves snaking around the outside and curling along its edges. Mises squeezed my hand tight as I reached out and opened it,

letting the door swing open with a drawn-out creek of rink. rusty hinges. There were no windows, and though I tried the light switch, the only light that triggered in was creeping remnants of daylight, bouncing off the corridor behind us. It made the shadowy shapes within the room look dark indeed, like a nightmare version of the guessing game we played. Misey stood at the door as I crept inside. She squeaked, and I turned to see her pointing to my left. A hulking figure draped in a white sheet loomed over us, and peeking out from between the sheet was shaggy brown hair and giant curled claws. Heart leaping, I braced for the monster to attack, but nothing happened.

After a moment, I plucked up more courage than I knew I had, and slowly tugged at the dust sheet covering the monster. It fell away, and I saw teeth and fur, and my blood ran cold, if only for a moment. It was a bear, stuffed and unmoving. Behind me, a miser giggled. She must have been emboldened by my display of temporary bravery And she stepped to my side and joined me in unveiling the shapes within the dim room Dust leapt into the air swirling and making a splutter One by one the extravagant shapes were revealed

Pattern vases golden toy soldiers intricate galleons somehow placed within glass bottles I could see why we weren't allowed in this room Everything was fragile or delicate and seemed like a toy to the eyes of young children The thrill we got from unveiling such bizarre objects even overpowered the melancholy mood that had hung over me like a black cloud and I joined Misey in smiling and giggling. We began to guess what the neck shape was before her eyes strained through to make it out amongst the fading light.

One in particular caught my eye. It's a statue, I said, a statue of a person. It's too little to be a person, said Misey. They're sitting down, look. I pointed at what I thought. What was the head? Nose, ears, mouth? My fingers traced the air,

curving around the folds of fabric draped over whatever was hidden underneath. The way it hung made me convinced. A statue or a sharp mannequin, a large doll maybe. The head and shoulders were a giveaway. Misey was right, though. It was too short.

But the way the dusty sheet also covered the blocky oblong beneath a person made me think of a park bench I'd once seen, with a statue occupying one seat, and the other empty. I stretched out my hand, and, just as my fingers settled on the fabric, whatever was underneath,

shifted. I flinched back, snatching my hand away and stumbling, my foot getting caught in the trailing sheet. It snagged me, and some of the dust sheets slid away, the rest getting tangled around the object underneath, half revealed,

barely lit by what little daylight trickled to the open doorway. It was a sofa. My mind barely registered it. My eyes locked and what I'd thought had been a statue. Most of it was still wrapped in tangled sheets, but enough had been removed to show a trouser leg and polished black leather shoes. Misey stepped forward to pull off the rest of the sheet,

thinking it was another toy, like the bear, but I shot out a hand to stopper. It had moved. If it was a statue, it looked very, very real, and it had definitely moved. Don't, I whispered to Misey, but the moment my words left my mouth, they died. The vaults of sheets twisted, the head of whatever was beneath snapping suddenly to face me. Misey froze like a startled deer.

We both watched the figure on the sofa, and it watched right back. Now I was looking closely, I could see breathing. The sheets around its shoulders slowly rising and falling. Not daring to blink, not daring to speak. I gripped hold of Mize's dress, forcing her backwards with me as I stepped slowly and carefully out of the room, never taken my eyes off the figure. It was so horribly, painfully clear to me now. It was a person. There was somebody hiding in my grandmother's house.

The head followed us, glacially slow, and I desperately swallowed the instinct to sink down into a ball and cry. The dust sheet ripped and a section near the waist folded as whoever was underneath grabbed hold. They began to rise to their feet, dushit enveloping them like a spectre. I didn't stop to watch. With strength I didn't know I had, I physically lifted Misy off the ground and ran. Both of us screaming and crying so hard I could barely see where I was running. I didn't close the door but turned back to look. I didn't stop running until I found my grandmother.

Didn't stop screaming and shouting until my mother and father and some of the staff showed up. Didn't stop crying until I fell asleep. They didn't find anybody, of course. They searched the house. Nothing. No signs except disturbed dust sheets, all of which were blamed on me and my sister. Our mother and father had ended the night early to collect us, and whilst they were glad we were unharmed,

we got the biggest telling off of our lives for going into the room with the ivory handle. It was a long time until we were allowed to play unsupervised at my grandmother's house. When we went back, we were told the door with the ivory handle was going to be locked from now on. They said it as though they were trying to reassure us. But I heard the truth loud and clear. They didn't believe us. My Zee was happy though. She said she never wanted to go into that room ever again and refused to even look at it,

sometimes going around the house rather than walking past it. I wasn't satisfied though, and as the terror of the event, slowly faded, I began to consider another possibility. What if that person wasn't a stranger, hiding amongst the old relics? What if it was my grandfather, still alive, still visiting us and our grandmother? That would explain what the house always felt like his. He was still living inside it. I tried to explain this demisie, but it just made her upset.

She was still scared of that room, so I knew if I was to go back, it would have to be alone. The staff might have locked that door, but they didn't lock the room where they kept the key, and it didn't take too much searching to find it. The next time our parents went away and left us with our grandmother, I was ready to explore again to find my grandfather and meet him properly. He hadn't tried to hurt us after all.

He just stood up, and we'd gotten scared and ran away. I stole the key and hid it beneath my pillow. When night came I waited until Mizey fell asleep Sneaking out of my room into the hall My grandmother was watching television Facing away from the hall And it was easier to creep past her And down the main stairwell of the house

I was walking barefoot And the floor was icy cold on the bottom of my feet Tiptoeing past boxes of new stock in inventory I made my way down the corridor Eyes locked on the black door and the white ivory handle shining like a beacon and the faintest echoes of moonlight. I'd taken a torch, but I didn't need it. As the door creaked open,

an instinctive flick of the light switch revealed the staff that changed the broken light bulbs before locking the door. The sudden artificial light was almost blinding. The shrouded shapes were identical to my previous visit, though they weren't nearly as ominous without the shadows to ensnare them. It was reassuring, and the light made all my nerves vanish. More than ever, I was convinced, tonight, I was going to meet my grandfather. As I stalked between the sheet-covered shapes, somewhere familiar and recognizable from before,

I noticed only one difference. The blocky shape of the sofa was vacant. Searching the last hidden space as the room, it quickly became obvious. My grandfather wasn't here. The room was empty, apart from the hidden treasures. A crushing weight settled over my shoulders And I shook my head slightly Trying to ward off stinging tears I was just a silly little girl

Up past the bedtime chasing ghosts I walked back towards the sofa Wanting to sink down and go to sleep right there But a hissing voice stopped me Before I took my final steps What are you doing Misey was at the doorway rubbing sleep from her eyes I didn't see the point in lying.

I was looking for Granddad, but he's not here. Nobody's here. As if the check, Mises eyes drifted to the vacant sofa. I expected her to nod and turn to leave. But instead, her eyes went wide and her lips began to tremble. She pointed, and I turned to look. An insect or something was crawling beneath the dust sheet right across the sofa cushions.

It was the size of a small animal, like a rabbit, but the way the sheet moved was too spindly and angular. The sheet shifted and twisted around the shape of whatever was underneath. It could almost have been a spider, but each leg joint that poked under the sheet was as thick as my knuckle. If I had a dare to move, I would have smashed it with my torch and kept hitting it until the dust sheet stopped moving. Frozen as I was, all I could do was watch.

He crept forwards on the sofa, and as it went over the edge, it didn't fall. The sheets rippled, and it continued walking downwards at the same steady pace. Whatever it was, I'd soon find out. He was walking straight towards me, and was about to emerge from beneath a sheet. The sheets wafted gently as though stirred by a breeze, and something drifted out, elegant and smooth. Fingers. clean, perfectly manicured fingers. A youthful woman's hand peaked out,

each finger painted with red fingernail polish. The hand was so leisurely in its movement, floating above the ground, armed disappearing back beneath the sheets. And yet there was no shape beyond the totally draped fabric. There was nobody on the sofa. No way somebody could contort themselves to fit what little void existed between cloth and cushion.

I gawked, mouth unable to close, as the hands slowly rotated and took hold of the sheet, raising higher and higher to reveal the floral patterned sofa and pine-wood legs, as though it were a woman hitching up a skirt. The colours of the sofa was so vivid and vibrant, it was hard to believe that we hadn't noticed it before, even in the near darkness. The flowers looked so real,

you could almost see the morning dew forming on the petals, almost feel the sun's reflection glittering in the tilt of windbrushed leaves. Before it rose above the cushion seat, the hand released the dust sheet and beckoned me. It withdrew, slowly disappearing beneath the sheet, and the shape of the arm slither away. The way it curved and twisted made me shiver. Even as young as I was, I knew no human arm could bend that way. Whatever was underneath that thin layer of fabric, it moved the way a snake did, writhing and uncoiling. The sofa was dazzling.

It appeared pure white behind the flowers, but it couldn't have been. It was too bright. White somehow seemed too dull a color to describe it. He was almost blinding to look at, yet I couldn't stop myself. Misey was at my side, and we both stared, unblinking at the fabric and flowers,

and this new colour our eyes had never seen before. Birds fluttered into the room, with silent flapping wings. humming birds, dozens of them, hovering and sipping from the flowers of the fabric. It took me a long moment to realise they weren't in the room at all. There were just another pattern, stitched into the fabric of the cushion, and yet they were... Moving. One by one, they zipped beneath the covering, following the hand, and for a moment I wanted to follow them. I took a step forward and stopped myself.

Misey had made the same step forward, at the exact same time. We turned to look at each other, peeling our eyes away from the sofa. That was enough. Something deep and primal told me I shouldn't sit down. Yet somehow it was easier to stop each other than stop ourselves. We didn't speak, but together my sister and I left the room, gripping hold of each other and never breaking eye contact. When we reached the door, I flicked off the light and shut the creaking door with all my strength.

As the room with the ivory handle vanished from view, I saw for one brief moment. A man. He was barely visible in the darkness, but he sat on the sofa, hands on his knees. His cold eyes met mine, and even the half second before the door closed was too long. The moment the door was shut, I locked it. We never went into that room again. Neither me or Misey have ever spoken about it, to each other or to a other. anyone else. She might not even remember. Perhaps I would have been able to dismiss it as

childish fantasy if it wasn't for the thing I saw yesterday. My grandmother passed away last year. Her ashes were kept in an urn, but during the house sale and all of them moving, somehow the ashes got lost. They found the urn, which never left the house, but the ashes were gone. Obviously my family was devastated A few people who probably didn't deserve it got fired But we never found out who was responsible Or what happened During the final weeks of the house sale

All of our grandfather's vast fortune and old treasures got divided amongst the family All of our grandfather's vast fortune and all treasures Got divided amongst family, friends and loyal employees Of particular interest the most Were several items locked behind a door with an ivory handle. Mises and myself avoided that particular day of exploration. But, as I said my last goodbyes to the house,

I couldn't help but noticed a familiar shape amongst the others, draped beneath dust sheets, the blocky outline of a sofa, with something placed on it, something with a head and shoulders, the vague outline of a person perched on the sofa with room to spare. At the very bottom, peeking beneath a door. beneath the sheets was the trim of a faded green dress and matching green buckled shoes.

My grandmother's shoes. Whatever was wearing them shifted slightly beneath a dust sheet, turning to face me. And patted at the empty seat.