CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The Glowing Tunnel" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 24, 2020

PLEASE CHECK OUT THE AUTHOR'S LATEST BOOK► https://www.breakingrulespublishing.c...MORE BOOKS HERE► https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Erutious: 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-Joseph Diaz:►https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Z5...►https://www.etsy.com/es/shop/Necronom...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-

I'm just to have Amsterdam, eh? Why? I'm forgotten how a tooprikes. Doy! Toy! With Eurocity direct, though? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in 2-hour. Now, from 19 euro in place of 25.

Book you tickets on NMBS International.com. The festival season is aangbroken, and that beteked, and so, came Kim to Amazon.com.com. On the look to a water-dict tent, a comfortable luget, oh, so, knus. And Lupeartprint regalardser. Now, now, now, now,

know what you know about the madder man that, oh, wait just even, only modder on? Oh yeah,

only mudder. Drogobleve? Goar for. Find what you know on on Amazon.com. My brother and I worked for a cleaning company in my hometown.

We're both still in high school. He's a junior and I'm a senior. So it was either this or fast food. The owner is a friend of dads and we'll call him Chuck to protect the innocent. Chuck is a nice enough guy. My brother and I have known him since we were young, but as a businessman, he leaves a lot to be desired. Please don't misunderstand. The guy makes money, but he seemed to think that employee safety gives after profit. My brother and I had been

working like dogs for him all summer, cleaning out people's yards and moving boxes out of abandoned buildings when Chuck got a call from another of his old friends, Philippe O'Dair. If Chuck is a little underhanded in his business practices, then Philip is a goddamn pirate. He's the town's number one real estate agent, and I mean everything when I say he sells everything. He owns a pawn shop, broke brokers, with his younger brother, and when he wasn't selling houses, he was looking for homes to buy. The homes he picks up are rough most of the time, and if he was selling them as fixed wrappers, that would be okay. The problem is that after he picks up these houses for next to nothing, he does shoddy, band-aid repairs on them and sells them for top prices.

My current situation is thanks in part to Philip's underhanded renovation and Chuck's less than stellar business sense. The Foskey place, I asked, I didn't even know Mr Foske was dead. Chuck looked up from his not, his grey hair making him look like a cloud with glasses. He's not. Foskey's son sent him to Golden View and sold his house to O'Dare Real Estate. That made me a little sad.

Mr. Foskey had been my English teacher when I was in middle school, and he'd also taught Dad when he was an eighth grader. My brother had not been what you would call advanced English compatible, so he didn't get him. But Dad and I both agreed that Mr. Foske was the best. He always had such cool lesson plans and exciting books in his class library, He challenged his advanced students to be more than a title and wanted us to be more than just A plus students

I was sad to hear that he was fired two years ago He had started to go a little senile in his old age Everyone said so And his tasting books has always been a little esoteric After he'd been fired He'd become a hermit He only came out at night And the word around town was that

He had taken to going through people's garbage What he sought was anyone's guess But people who came to visit him Said that his house was full of junk Now he was gone After the mental hospital in the next town And we were left to clean up his house Phil says to save anything that looks valuable

Apparently the guy had a ton of old books That were probably worth money Foski's son sold Philip the house And everything in it So don't bother saving anything sentimental Couple weeks in the puzzle factory And the old man probably won't remember his own name. I left before I could say anything stupid. The thought of a brilliant man like Mr. Foskey,

losing his mind in a place like Golden View, made me sick at the time. Now, I think it might be exactly what he deserves. We arrived at the house at 6am. Philip was waiting for us, a cell phone against his ear and a latte in his other hand. He was dressed in his usual blue suit, and I imagine we looked pretty shabby next to him in our jeans and black t-shirts with a company name on them. My brother had rolled the sleeves on his up, his motorcycle boots peeking

from beneath the cuff on the jeans. He was going through some kind of James Dean phase, but it really just made him look like an extra in Greece. We waited for Philip to finish, and when he did, he looked at us like we were in his way. Well, what are you waiting for? A breakdown on exactly what we're doing, I said a little hotly. He scoffed.

I thought you boys were smart. Clean the dam house and save what can be sold. Old bugger bought the house five years ago. It's a one bed, one bath. And I have a client who wants to see it by Wednesday. So if you could not take all week about it, that would be great. We'll take a look and let you know by the end of the day, okay? Philip scoffed, clearly saving all that charm for his clients.

Just have it done. I'll pay you double if you can do it by Wednesday. You, not your boss. That was a tantalizing offer. Chuck was great, but he tended to be a little light with the checks. We were being paid under the table, so we couldn't really argue. But some extra cash would be sweet. I shook Philip's hand and said we would have it done by Wednesday.

He nodded and left, the sound of his teabird cutting up the road as he went. I immediately regretted my words when I saw the inside of the house. The house had a strange floor plan. There was a living room and a dining room with a bar that overlooked them from the kitchen. Off the kitchen was a bathroom and a back door to get out back where you could sit in a small backyard. Off the living room was another door that I guessed was a bedroom. The house had a strange sort of feel to it when I came inside, and I could believe that such a place was a place.

would draw Mr. Foskey to it. It was eccentric in a utilitarian way, a way that he would understand. The living room slash dining room was full of trash and furniture, stuffed floor to ceiling. I could see a little walkways from the living room to the kitchen.

The kitchen spared the worst of it, but it was still covered in garbage. The floor had a solid foot of garbage on it. The cabinets were covered in old food wrappers and the refrigerator seemed clean, but the door wouldn't open due to the junk. The cabinets were stuffed with garbage,

and I sighed as I thought about the job at hand. This looked like a good week's worth of work between the living room and the kitchen alone. I'll take the kitchen, you take the living room. Whoever finishes first will help the other. My brother scoffed. Where do you get the kitchen? I rob my eyes.

I see a lot of furniture in there. there, football star, you got Dad's build, so you do the heavy lifting. He scoffed, and you got Mom's build, so I guess you get your girly ass in the kitchen, he said with a laugh. We put on our respirators, rubber boots and thick gloves. We hadn't seen anything that would make us break out the hazmat suits yet, but I like to be safe. We were definitely working with some old refuse, possibly refuse that had been outside,

and that meant that rodents were a danger. as were insects. We'd cleaned out a shed like this not even a month ago and ran upon a secret hornet's nest. That had made us wary about attacking big mounds of trash. So, as I started in the kitchen, I was careful to look where I was putting my hands. I got lucky.

The trash was mostly dry and clean, and it was easily bagged. I heard my brother straining and grunting in the living room and looked out to seem wrestling with some sizable pieces of furniture. He was dragging them out under the lawn. Philip had a mobile storage unit waiting out front and then loaded them into the unit.

I watched them groan as he tried to lift an antique dining room table, which had been the linchpin of a large pile of garbage before going to help him. The pile fell over as we freed the table, and I helped him lug it into the yard. This is how we spent our day until mid-afternoon. By four, I had all the garbage out of the kitchen. My brother had gotten most of the furniture out of the living room

and was wiping sweat from his brow as he stuffed papers into a bag. "'Doesn't this guy have an AC?' he asked, out of breath. "'I haven't seen a thermostat. Maybe it's in his bedroom.' My brother stood up and walked to the door coming off the living room. As he opened it up, I heard him whistle and came over to see what he'd found. Inside the bedroom was a tunnel of solid gunk. It snaked to the left, getting dim inside, and the tunnel looked as though someone had cut it out of this solid junk amalgamation.

You're sure you want to go in there? I asked. He just rolled his eyes and took a pinlight out of his pocket. This shouldn't take long, he said, and tramped into the room. I stood for a few seconds, making sure the whole pile wouldn't just fall over. and went back to work in the kitchen. I should have gone with him, maybe being a little more attentive, but I was in a hurry

and really wanted to have a look at the bathroom before quitting time. I got all the garbage out of the cabinets, stuffing six bags with nothing but trash. I unearthed the sink and the microwave and it started cleaning the countertops. And I noticed something wasn't right.

The trash was still in the same place my brother had left it, and the door to the bedroom still hung open. Was he still in there? There was no way it had taken him an hour to navigate the bedroom to find the thermostat. I called his name into the bedroom. The name almost seemed to echo down the trash hall, but I got no answer. He was starting to get close to sunset, and I really wanted to be out of here before dark, thinking maybe he had fallen or gotten hurt in the,

I grabbed a headlamp out of the car and headed into the trash maze. I turned the corner and was bombarded by the claustrophobia of the trash tunnel. The tunnel was a solid mass of trash that seemed almost sculpted. It was like someone had built a wall out of mortar and trash and then cut a tunnel out of it. There was a soft light coming from the trash wall and when I turned off the headlight, I found that I could see. The dim light seemed to be coming from somewhere inside the wall, but even with the headlight on, I couldn't tell what it was.

It made navigating the strangely winding maze a little easier, but as I moved, the size started to unsettle me. The bedroom was supposed to be 12 by 12, but this maze seemed to be winding farther on than the whole house. I had been taking turns for several minutes when I came upon my first strange sight. Coming around a bend, I came face to face with a small library. A small grotto held four bookshelves stuffed with old-looking books. Many of them had covers, covered in mould, and as I got closer, I could see bugs moving across them. I backed away

and kept walking, not sure how deep this rabbit hole went, but wanting to be out more and more with every step. I kept looking down periodically, seeing if I could find a print from my brother's big rubber boots in the dust. I was looking for any sign that he had passed this way, but so far,

I had come up with nothing. Then I came upon, the old man. I turned a corner and found myself in a 10 by 10 park with honest-a-god grass, a lamp post that was on, and a park bench.

An old man sat on it, feeding real pigeons and as I approached he patted the bench as though he wanted me to sit one look at the old guy told me I did not want to sit there he was dressed in a long coat that looked patched and frayed

and a fuzzy cap obscured his face he patted the seat again as I approached but I had already decided that I was not stopping the whole situation was a little creepy and I intended to just walk on by and continue on. When his hand shot out and grabbed me, I nearly jumped a foot. His hand was covered in thick green mould,

and when he looked up, I could see the same mould growing on his face. He grinned his gap-tooth smile at me, and for a moment, I thought it was Mr. Foskey. His grip was firm but moist, and when I pulled away, His hand slipped off, and he sat there, grinning at me. Something clamped down on my ankle then, and I looked down to see that he was feeding rats.

These were wolf rats, too, not cute pet shop mice. And, as they tried to scuttle up my rubber boots, I kicked them out and turned to run. The old man was standing then, a creaky moan coming from his dusty throat. But I was out of the park and into the tunnel again. I ran, I ran flat out, and as I ran, I imagined I could see the lights in the wall reaching out for me. Their brightness came reaching out towards me, and I ducked and dodged away from them as I came. The tunnel seemed to be nightmariously claustrophobic as I ran, and I began taking turns at random. I had no idea where I was or where I was going.

I only knew that I wanted to be out. I prayed that this tunnel would end, and that, I would flop onto the carpet of the dirty living room and that my brother would be waiting for me. He would wonder where I'd been and what had taken me so long, and we would leave and never come back to this place again. Screw O'Dare and screw his money. As I stopped, panting and clutching a stitch in my side, I just wanted to be out.

That's when I heard the footsteps. They echoed strangely up the time. and they filled me with a deep sense of dread. Was it the old man coming after me? Some new horror. I didn't know, but the steps were heavy and ominous, and I knew that I did not want them to find me. I head around the corner in a little trash alcove and shuddered in my cowardice. The steps grew closer.

I was shaking all over. The footsteps were slow and knowing. I just knew it was some kind of nose. new monster that wanted me. It was some mold monster that was trying to invade me, like it had invaded the old man. It was the old man who wanted to breathe spores into me and infect me. I didn't know what it was, and I didn't care. At that moment, I just wanted to leave, and I was willing to kill to get out of here.

Clomp, clump, clump, clump. I saw a rock on the ground. Clump, clump, clump, clump. It looked like a jagged, broken paving stone. Clomp, clump, clump, clump. I picked it up and held it against my chest. Clomp, clump, clump! I closed my eyes and stalled myself for what I was about to do.

Clomp, clump, clump! I ran in the corner and swung the stone, and it connected with something that immediately staggered back, bellowing. I swung again, but it. hit me around the waist and drove me to the ground. I dropped the rock in the skirmish, and as it rolled away, I felt hands close around my throat. It was choking me, choking my life out of me, and as I groped around, I could see little black swirls at the corner of my vision. I swung my fist at it, but without oxygen, it was a weak swing at best. I went back

to groping, trying to find something, and finally my hands settle on something. hard and jagged. I grabbed the rock and swung out, filling my lungs with air as the hands loosened and the shape fell over. I lifted the rock and swing it down at the shape, hitting it in the head. I straddled it, swinging again and again and again, until it finally stopped moving. I was panting then, outer breath and covered in sweat. But when I flipped on the headlamp, I felt my breath escape in a sudden whoosh. I was choking air. I could not find any air.

I was straddling a human being. His face mostly caved in, but the rolled-up shirt sleeves were a dead giveaway. He was wearing our shirt. The shirt were the two happy moving men on the front. And as I threw the rock away, the tears began to flow. I jumped off him and ran,

leaving him in the tunnel to God only knew what. I ran in a blind panic. I ran until I couldn't anymore and kept running. I ran until my legs burned and my lungs heaved. I bumped into walls and saw them crumble around me. As they fell, I felt the trash enveloped me and I embraced the entoming refuse as my fate. I had killed my brother.

I deserved to be encased in garbage for all eternity. I deserved it. I... I... I... I could see flashing lights and was aware of being carried. I opened my eyes to see two paramedics rolling me into an ambulance and a panicked chuck following close behind. Philip was there too, but he looked more aggravated than worried.

As we drove away in the ambulance, I looked around, and they seemed to become aware that I wasn't unconscious. Happened, I asked. and the two of them filled me in. Philip had come after dark to check on our progress. After finding the house mostly still cluttered, he'd called Chuck and told him to get down here. The house was still a disaster, and his workers were nowhere to be found.

When Chuck arrived, they found me passed out in the living room under a pile of garbage. They called the paramedics, fearing I'd broke my neck and had them come check me out. Parra said you're lucky to be alive honestly, said Chuck, and Philip elbowed him, wanting him to shut up.

Why? I asked, hoarsely. He said the place was crawling with blackmould. It was around the crown of the ceiling and baseboard. Hell, the whole place was set up. It's a good thing your brother left early, eh? I told Chuck, I didn't remember him leaving. I told him about the bedroom, about the tunnel, and the strange things I was.

I'd seen down there. I don't think Chuck believed me, but they did go back to the house to look for him. They came to see me in the hospital later that night and told me they hadn't seen hide nor hair of him. He wasn't at home. They'd called Dad and his truck was still at Chuck's shop. They don't know where he is, but they were sure he would turn up. I didn't answer them.

A week later they let me go And I was back to the house The guys Philip got to clean it Aren't as diligent as my brother and me But they are great at leaving doors unlocked I stood before the bedroom door Like I expected it to open up on its own And suck me in

It didn't And when I finally opened it I found Not a tunnel But a cluttered bedroom On the other side just the bedroom no tunnel

no monsters just a bedroom it's been two weeks and no one has seen my brother he's lying dead in some weird trash tunnel with his head caved in a part of me knows this but a part of me also knows

that there is no trash tunnel behind that door I don't know what to do dad is getting worried the police have no leads and I can't find the tunnel. I killed him. It's my fault. But if I tell people the story,

they're going to lock me in Golden View right along with Mr. Foskey. I went to visit him a few days ago. No one monitors who's visiting the residence of Golden View. When I asked him about the trash tunnel and the golden mold, he just stared at me, blankly. I begged him to tell me, screamed at him, to help me find my brother.

But Whatever light was in Mr. Foskey When I was in his English class He is gone Now, he just sits in the day room And watches soap operas with the rest of them I don't know what to do How do I get him back?

What's going to happen the next time Whatever poor sap who buys that house opens the bedroom door Will they see their familiar bedroom Or be the next victim Of the glowing tunnel Thank you.