CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The Girl and the Glass" Creepypasta

Episode Date: July 17, 2020

She sees me...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►Chenthooran Nambiarooran: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/KydgoSUGGESTED 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-

There's a particular motel that's quite well known in my area. It's about five hours away, but it's on the road to Chicago, so kids from my school end up staying there from time to time, and when they do, they always bring back the most exciting stories about their interactions with the ghost. The motel actually capitalises on it from what I've heard. They encourage tourists to come stay, ghost hunters and the like. It's in a nice enough area.

good views and half decent amenities and all that. So, it wasn't too difficult to convince my parents to stop there on the way back home from a trip of our own. I've always wanted to check it out myself, a chance to confirm or deny the BS. And hey, I might actually get some scary stories of my own to share. My parents are at the front desk buck in the room, and I'm stood on the opposite side of the lobby, looking up at the sign they have here for tourists. It's not that impressive, to be honest. A few paragraphs of text with a clip-art cartoon ghost on the top right.

At the bottom is a picture of a girl about my age, photoshopped awkwardly in. She's wearing white makeup and snarls out of the person reading the sign. The text tells the tale of a girl humiliated by a boy she'd fallen in love with. Tricked into attending a non-existent party at the climax of a cruel and false back and forth between them, she lost the mind in a fit of rage and sliced up in their neck. with a blade of shattered glass. Yikes. Talk about Sarah to 100.

I probably would have just gone home. My little sister comes up to me and squeezes my arm. I shrug her off. Who's that, Noah? She asks, pointing to the photo of the girl. Is she a ghost? I think she's supposed to be, yeah, I replied. Though they definitely could have done a better job with it.

Hmm. Hey, you know, know she looks kind of like a girlfriend. I squint and tilt my head. She does a bit, actually, and I'm surprised to find a shiver of discomfort ripple through me. Well, she's just an actor, or a model, or whatever. She's not the real ghost.

Is there a real ghost, Noah? My sister asks, staring up at me. I turn and grin down to her. That's what we're going to find out. Our room, as it happens, is a boring. one. Pretty nice, well kept. I'm actually kind of disappointed. The whole place seems fine. This isn't at all what I had expected. The scenes painted in my head by my classmates were those of a dark and towering mansion, with twisted paintings and sauceless windows that blew down the

corridors and rattled the shutters. I asked my parents for permission to explore before it gets too late. They relent on the condition that I take my sister a long time. I roll my eyes, but do as they say, taking a hand reluctantly as I lead her on down the corridors. They're all much the same. Blank walls, repeating doors. We come out to the porch and I look out to the fields and mountains beyond as the sun starts the sink behind them. It's a decent view. It's really not a bad little place.

We return inside. The halls are quiet. quiet, but for the gentle buzz from above in the overhead light. My sister was humming and whistling to herself happily enough, but she drops into silence as we pass beneath the light that flickers. I bring us to a stop and look up at it. The flickering becomes more incessant, angrier almost, and a chill passes through me. A water fountain gurgles softly at the end of the hall.

I grimace and shake my head, forcing the feeling away. This isn't good enough, I mutter to Anna. I can't spin a story about a faulty light or a spooky water fountain. You'd think a place that wanted to capitalize on a ghost would put a little more effort into making the place

actually scary, you know? She doesn't respond, but she presses a little closer to me. Come on, I say, let's keep looking. And so, we do. Our search. on the whole is unfruitful, and it's getting a bit late. Disappointed, I'm ready to return to the room, and we're not far off when Anna suddenly

points out something to me excitedly. Look, Noah, look, over there, it's a secret corridor. I raise an eyebrow as she drags me over. I wouldn't call it secret exactly, but she was lucky to spot it. It feels narrower than the others, and the entrance is tugged away behind. behind a nice machine. I wouldn't have seen it myself if she hadn't called it to my attention. She tries to drag me down it, but I hold her still for a moment, and my heart starts to thump in my chest.

Okay, I mutter, this is more like it. The corridor is as long as any other, but there are no doors. No doors at all, except for one, directly ahead at the far end. A small cross hangs on the wall to my right, but other than that, the corridor's walls are completely unadorned. Are we going to go check it out? Anna asks up at me, expectantly, and I find myself amused by this sudden role reversal. I pull myself together. We sure are, I whisper, taking out my phone and starting to record. If anything spook is going to happen, I want it all on camera. Then together, we walk on down through the hall carefully and quietly

though I'm not sure why it's not like we decided on such an approach the wind picks up outside I can hear it through the walls starting to blow against the building the lights in here are steady but they buzz a little urgently and they glow is dim

there are no windows a small sign beside the lone door at the far end of the corridor becomes clearer bathroom, it reads simply, and as the door is cracked slightly ajar upon reaching it, I look down at Anna and she looks up at me, and I push it slowly open. We step through.

The bathroom itself is largely unremarkable. Could do with a bit of work for sure. The tile is cracked and chipped. Grime lurks in the corners. The drain rumbles quietly down below. but nothing to shout about. It's the mirror that gives us cause the gasp in wonder. It's so tall, extending from the sink almost all the way up to the ceiling.

The frame is black and scarlet, an intertwined and intricate pattern, and its presence over the little room is ominous and commanding. The weirdest part of the mirror, however, lies in its glass. We are nowhere to be seen. As we move from side to side, angling our heads and waving our arms at it in amazement, we are simply not visible. Our reflections are not there. The rest of the room is plain enough, reflected mundane in that shiny surface, but we are not.

Now this is what I'm talking about, I say out loud with a grin, pointing the camera up to the glass. I wave my hand between the lens and the mirror, shaking it about, as my sister goes up to touch it. She carefully presses a reflectionless hand up against the surface, her face a picture of awe. I mega face at it, I waggle my fingers. This must be a tourist thing. It's so clever. I pocket my phone and step closer, pressing my face right up against it, squinting, peering carefully from side to side, trying to work out the trick. I tap lightly against the glass, listening for a clue in the noise it makes, but I don't know what I'm listening for, really. All I hear is the

hissing of pipes above and the wind beyond the walls. Noah? My sister whispers, tugging at my sleeve. Noah, what's this? I look up to where she's pointing. To the side of the mirror and carved into the wall is a chilling and unsettling inscription. Marla Morgan sliced the throat And so this little rhymes she wrote Say her name three times and clear And in the glass she will appear Goose bumps ripple across my arms

Oh my God Her mutter Taking out my phone to snap a quick picture I think this might be a bit too scary for you Anna Is that a name Noah Is that the ghost? Yeah Yeah I think so

So, she studies the inscription again. I probably shouldn't have let her, to be honest, but whatever. It's grim, but it's only a prank or something. No worse than what you'd see on TV. I look back to the mirror. The strange, dim lighting in the room casts curious shadows across its features. The wind whistles outside, and the pipes hiss. My sister follows along the words on the wall with a finger,

tracing them. She reads out loud, Say her name three times, and clear, and in the glass she will appear. Do you want to try it? Her laugh, reaching down to pick her up.

She squeals and giggles, and I hold her above the sink up close to the reflectionless mirror. She quietens, and I feel her heartbeat. Go on, I whisper. I dare you. She slowly says the name, whispering too.

Marla Morgan. And a rumble rolls along the pipes. Against my better sense of reason, against my sense of logic, I start to become nervous. I feel little buds of sweat forming across my skin. Marla Morgan. I light flickers in the corridor beyond, and the bathroom's temperature seems to drop. Tensed and all of a sudden on the precipice of a powerful panic, I wonder if I've made a terrible, terrible mistake.

My sister opens a mouth and laughs. She pushes me away and I drop her gently to the floor and at once the tension is broken. I wipe my forehead and return the laugh awkwardly. I can't do it, Noah. I'm too scared. She giggled. "'Hap, probably for the best,' I mutter, "'swallowing with a dry throat.

"'You know, just in case. "'Anyway, come on, let's get out of here.' "'She merrily pushes away out of the door "'and back down the corridor, "'and I shoot one last look at the curious mirror. "'I shiver and take my leave. "'It's about 3 a.m. when I visit the bathroom again. "'I might have been two.

"'Can't really remember. My family, all asleep, I grab the keycard to the door from the side table and stumble out of our room and down the corridor, only half awake, rowing my eyes and holding my bladder. The bathroom with a reflectionless mirror is the one my legs carry me to. It's not the closest, but it's the one I head to now in my slumberous state. Eyes still half closed, I carefully push into the room. I click the door's lock and lift the seat of the toilet starting my business. I glance over to the mirror, startling myself awake once I realize where I am, once I realize that no reflection is looking back at me from the glass. My head starts the pound as my senses return to me one by one.

It was bad enough being in here with Anna, let alone by myself in the middle of the damn night. It's just a gimmick, I assure myself. A tourist trick. That's what Mom and Dad said. And yet, the mirror's very present seems to darken the whole room. It doesn't make the place feel larger as mirrors should. It somehow makes it feel smaller, claustrophobic even. I lower the lid and step to the sink to wash my hands,

unable to keep myself from shaking. I left my gaze. I stare into the shadowed void beyond the glass, intently. I can't look away. I lean in close. I lean real, real close, trying to conquer my irrational fear, trying to reclaim a lost sense of pride. I tap my fingers against the glass. Anyone there?

I whisper. Silence. Marla Morgan sliced the throat, and so this little rhyme she wrote, say a name three times and clear, and in the glass she will appear. Ah, screw it, I say out loud. I had no chicken. I force out a chuckle, but it sounds anxious and rings hollow. I press my hands up to the glass.

I lean my face in close. Marla Morgan, I whisper. My heart beats loud in my ear. I lean a little closer. Marla Morgan. I can do this. I can do this. Ma...

A sudden metallic clank from the corridor. sends me sprawling back up against the wall in terror. My words caught to my tongue as my lungs empty of air. I dart forward and unlock the door, tearing it open and peering out into the corridor beyond. I can't see anything at first, but then an elbow appears from behind the corner of the far end. I hear the sound of a bucket being filled with ice,

and I put a trembling hand to my forehead, sighing in grateful relief. It's just some dude using the ice machine. Oh God, oh God, I muttered to myself, running a hand through my hair. Okay, screw this, I'm going back to bed. I admit it, all right? I say to no one in particular as I make my way back to my room. I admit it, I'm a chicken.

It's an otherwise uneventful night. We pack up the next morning and my parents and my sister are waiting for me in the car. I said I'd return the key to the front desk for them. Did you have a good night then, young man? The guy behind the desk asks, as I pass over the key. Yeah, it was good, thanks, I reply. Hey, so, I was actually wondering about that mirror, the one at the end of the corridor. I've got a...

Oh, hey, you found the mirror. It's a freaky-looking thing, ain't it? We showed off during tours and such. I breathe, a quiet sigh of relief. Oh, yeah, that's what I thought. I was just wondering about, you know, the whole... The vibe, right? He interrupts as he scratches his jaw.

Yeah, it's pretty weird in there. We thought about fixing it up, but the aesthetic kind of adds to the creepiness, you know. It's the inscription that always gets to me. That freaky little rhyme. You see that? I nod. But again, it adds to the mystery and the intrigue.

And it ain't just graffiti. It's been there longer than any of us guys have. The employees, I mean, could be as old as the mirror itself. A beat of sweat, buds, and trickles down my neck. I feel the colour start to train from my face. Old as the mirror. But I thought you said it was a tourist thing. You put it up for the tourists, right?

Oh, it's a tourist thing all right, but we didn't put it up. It's been there since before the beginning. We decided to keep everything pretty much as we found it, since that's the room the girl killed us of in after all. Marla Morgan adds to the legitimacy. She was a real person. I take a slow step back in horror, but the desk worker seems oblivious to my distress.

There's actually a story about that mirror, you know. He goes on, they say that if she's there, if she's watching you from behind the glass, then your own reflection completely disappears. poised, tensed, unseen on the other side. Her eyes white and wide, teeth bared and that shard of bloody glass held high, gripped and pale and shaking fingers, just waiting, waiting.

He juggles and shake his head. So, anything else I can do for you, young man? I politely tell him no, and I turn, my vision throbbing at the edges and a fear, within me as cold as a shot of ice and I get the hell out. I don't say word on the drive back home but I don't mess around with paranormal stuff anymore and I hug my sister just a little bit tighter.