CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The Lamp-Men of Bedfordshire" Creepypasta

Episode Date: November 26, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Goose_jpg: 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►https://corraninetysix.tumblr.com/ima...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-

In the summer of 2013, a man named Mr. Wright had sent me an erratic letter depicting his fears of a local anomaly that he called the Lampmen of Bedfordshire. At first, I struggled to decipher his messy script, but I was taken aback by his claims. According to Mr. Wright, his quaint town of Little Barford, Bedford, Bedford, had been tormented by the Lampmen since the 40s, and the residents had simply accepted it. Mr. Wright didn't seem to know what the cause was, but stated the town had strict rules and curfews to keep his two dozen occupants safe. Mr. Wright had shown his concerns ever since a young girl had recently gone missing. When I first told Mr. Wright that my urban myth tumbler was used to submitted stories, and that I never actually visited the towns, he refused to believe it.

In fact, he became far more assertive, and rather than suggest I see Little Barford. He demanded it. It wasn't until a further 15 minutes that I figured out that Mr. Wright wasn't a gentleman who lived in a quiet town with his loving wife and kids. Instead, he was a 15-year-old named Ronald Wright. After I pointed out his poor grammar and asked for ID, he soon came clean. Although Ronald had been lying about himself, he had been very truthful about Joyce Byrne, who had disappeared just a few days before his first email.

After finding out the truth, I firmly rejected his proposition. Knowing he was a kid knocked out all formality I had, and I ignored his further emails. I can't say the story didn't intrigue me. In fact, I debated posting it to my Tumblr, but on the weird off chance that it was real, and I decided not to. I even researched into the small town of Little Barford, and only found articles under construction of the power station 50 or so years ago. December soon came along and I had finally forgotten about Ronald his emails had been directed straight to my junk box automatically

however just days after Christmas I'd set foot inside the junk box searching for a voucher code my uncle had gotten me and came across a recent email from Ronald with a subject I broke the rules the lampmen are coming for me and opened it the title was intriguing

and the fact who said still emailing me caught my interest. In the email, Ronald addressed his previous emails and how I'd been ignoring him, and even went as far as to predict I hadn't been reading them. Ronald spoke about how nobody else had gone missing since Choice, but after months of no reply from me, Ronald had gone out at night in hopes of finding choice. Ronald laid out a few of the rules the town had been following,

and they read, One, do not go near the lights off the road, path at night, that is a lampman. 2. If you see a lamp post that does not belong, do not approach it. 3. When navigating road at night, use a lantern. If you see a tall source of light approaching you, you must drop the lantern and hide. It might be too late. 4. At night, curtains must be drawn tight.

If you have electronics on, make sure the light doesn't lead outside. They will find you. Little Barford was mainly a long road, lit by the orange glow of candlelit street lamps, each scattered carelessly at our distances. Fields faded into the dark abyss, with a light pollution of nearby towns brightened the sky. Despite this, the sky was painted with an abundance of bright pinholes. The taxi stopped at a row of bungalows, each one covered with an aged thatched roof. It was as if the town was frozen in time.

Ronald pulled me inside frantically. and his eyes were wild with fear. Did you break any of the rules? He screeched with urgency, his pre-bubescent voice sent shockwaves through my body. No, no, don't worry, I reassured. Ronald relaxed lightly, but the atmosphere remained thick and suffocating.

Before I had gotten to take my coat off, he had shoved an unkempt and small green buck into my hands. The dyed leather flaked off of the spine and some of the pages threatened to spill out. Ronald stared at me with impatient hues and wordlessly nodded at me as if permitting me to open it. Inside was the name Sheila Wright in neat cursive ink. Your mother's? I asked. Ronald shook his head and silently flipped to a page with a folded corner.

In the top right was a date, 2nd of August, 1940, and underneath it read, Mother and I closed the curtains this morning and read by electric light. We no longer need the fire from the lampman to re-dring the dark. Father wasn't as excited, and he left for his new job of the power station and a huff. This evening, we did not offer our fuel to the lampman, and Mother turned on the heater as a special treat. I wonder if the lampman will go hungry. I bit my lip in anxiety, my teeth scraped at the dead skin.

Ronald watched on with huge eyes as if I hadn't been. got into the most crucial part. I flipped to the next page. Third of August, 1940. Father did not return last night. I wonder if he lost his way. Mother said that he would be back soon. As it got dark, I saw the faint glow of one of the lampman. He was not far away. Instead, his flames had grown dull. I snuck some fuel out to him and he seemed grateful. 4th of August 1940 The lampman from last night

came back with others Mr Evan the next door neighbor threw water of them and screamed at them to leave He seems like nobody cares now That we don't need them Sheila's diary contained a lot of information A mass of details

He'd expect to be in a teenage girl's diary And only brief information about the lampman Up until the 10th of August Sheila's dad had been missing for over a week at that point There had been no sign of him and a few other locals had disappeared, including Mr Evans, who had gone for a nighttime walk.

Sheila had continued to feed the Lampen oil each night, and in return they guided her home a few times after spending evenings at a friend's house and even return of broach she had lost. She had noticed that the nights she failed to supply them with kerosene, people had disappeared into the night. Many people began to fear the Lampen, and soon enough, a list of rules was spread around the small,

village. These were the same rules Ronald had informed me earlier, plus an extra one. I had almost missed it. My eye threatened to skip past the familiar words, but when I spotted the number five, my heart and body froze. Five, do not miss a feeding night. I flipped a page to find that it had been ripped out. Ronald, I said through dried lips, what happens when you miss a night? I I asked. The young lad stared at me, lips spread wide and straight in a look of pure guilt. His ghostly features washed into the pale wallpaper behind him. I don't know.

People disappear, and most of the time, it's the people just driving through. There was still part of me that refused to accept the situation. Every fine detail about this town and its apparent lampman technically made no sense and read like a local folk town. Well, where's your grandmother? I felt like the only sentences that left my mouth ended with a question. She died near Easter, he admitted, just before I emailed you. Ronald played with his fingers and nervous disposition.

We found a body in the woods and near where she used to drop up the garrison. She had a bad liver. She sat from drinking some nasty stuff when younger. I removed my coat and headed into the living room. Ronald's house had a strange homeliness to it. Vintage pictures lined the wobbly walls as well as furniture and decorations

that didn't belong in this century. The smell of damp and petrol was covered poorly by candles. Did you keep feeding the lampmen? I asked. The sentence felt foreign and I struggled to push it past my lips. Until recently, he nodded.

I can't buy kerosene. I just used what grandma had stored. I just used what grandma had stored. That night, I slept in the spare bedroom. As much as Ronald tried to hide it, I knew that the bed once belonged to Sheila. Ronald's mother had worked the night shift, and, luckily for me, didn't dare step into a late mother's room, even if snoring leaked through the cracks of the door. At first, it was difficult to fall asleep. Everywhere in the house stunk of fuel, the spare bedroom was the worst for this. In the middle of the night, I turned on my

phone's flashlight they'd discover a party of fuel containers under the bed, all empty. I'd found this when I dropped my glasses accidentally. When I pulled them back up, they were coated in a strange substance, something too red to be kerosene, but too watery to be paint. Whatever it was, it was the source of the stench. I spent the next day studying the diary as if I had a test coming up. I'd have liked to get information from the locals, but there was an odd time. sensation of strangeness and anxiety that came with a thought. Despite that, it seemed like

all the information needed was laid out before me, all thanks to Sheila. Night two is where it got interesting. Despite my unwillingness to speak with the locals, I was brave enough to venture outside. It's strange how social anxiety works like that. Ronald had begged me not to go, but on to the little box of kerosene that I had brought earlier, I had. it felt like I had solved the issue. I left Ron's house at 9pm. The road was much darker than my arrival, and I could see the sky much clearer now.

I didn't dare think about the details behind it out of fear itself. This think of kerosene followed me into the woods as I used my phone screen to make a dim light. It was almost too dark to see, but I knew I'd tempt danger by using the torch function. It felt like I was traveling through the woods from miles,

but I was confident I had retraced Sheila's steps despite the low visibility. The trees came to a stop and I found myself in an open space where the grass had turned to stone. Ahead and in the darkness sat stone monuments, most resting at a height above my knee. The air was heavy with a smell similar to gasoline, just like the smell had run or else. And the further into the woods I travelled, the more pungent the smell. Sheila had offered no instructions beyond this, so I placed a bottle on one of the stone structures and returned the way I'd come.

Beyond the trees, just metres away, an orange glow leaked between the trunks, and I called out, Run, over here! My feet began to move on their own, and I travelled forward in a brisk walk. Bizarrely enough, the smell became more aggressive. The closer I got to.

a run, the more my brain hurt at the intensity. Only, it wasn't run. The closer I got, the better look I got. The light saws sat around 12 feet. I hide that little run would never reach without miraculous methods. I didn't stop walking. The mystery of light in the middle of the woods fueled my curiosity, and the excitement of lampmen being real,

caused waves of electricity to soar through my body. With steady steps, I made sure not to trip over overgrave, own roots. My body swung 180 degrees at the sudden crack of a branch just meters away, and behind me at the stone structure stood three street lamps. The figure surrounded the fuel I had left, and I watched as one of them took the container with lanky and ornamented arms. It opened what it could only describe as a window to its face, and poured a bit into it.

The flame inside weakened into a slight orange glow, and it shrieked the tone so hard, it felt like daggers had stabbed my ears. The two other beings stepped back in shock as the others threw the container into the foliage ahead. It didn't take a genius to figure out something was wrong. I ran faster than I ever had before, back through the woods, back through the small town and back to Ron's house, who stood in shock with his mother as I burst through the door.

You can imagine the shock on Ron's mother's face as I burst through. However, she was surprisingly accepting when we explained the odd situation. Ron's mother, who introduced herself as Marie, was more than happy to discuss the topic and even provide insight into details we hadn't known prior. After a cup of tea, I explained what had just happened and how the lampman had rejected the kerosene I supplied them.

There was some left upstairs? Asked, shock painted across the delicate features. No, I bought some, I informed, and Marie let out. her sigh. She bit down on her bottom lip as she decided whether to share something with us. It's not just kerosene, she uttered. Her lips froze in place and it made a speech difficult to understand. I waited in silence for her to continue. My mother mixed it with blood. Excuse me? I stuttered. A laugh bubbled up on my throat as the bizarreness tickled my sides.

Marie's face remained silent, a perfect poker face, if it wasn't for the hint of concern in her eyes. I straightened my back and cleared my throat. Go on. She mixed it, one liter of blood to five of kerosene. I watched on as Marie crossed her arms. She couldn't take it in her old age. I tried to help her, but for some reason they rejected mine. She stopped.

The air was strangely heavy yet empty. I couldn't help but guess that maybe that's how Sheila passed. Unlike Marie, I did not have a great poker face, and as soon as my eyes landed on Ron, she tensed up. She explained that he wouldn't do it out of fear of needles, and the little venom in the words hinted that she could not hide of frustration. The rest of the evening was equally stressful. There was a constant back and forth between both mother and son,

as Marie pushed and pressured Ron into facing one of his fears in return for saving his town. Both parties looked towards me with pleading eyes, as if they were begging me to side with them. But I couldn't. If Ron didn't try this, then what would happen? People had gone missing. Sheila had informed us of that,

but did we have any evidence? I couldn't side with either. How could I? I was stuck in a modern-day ethics dilemma. Who would stay behind if there were ten spaces in a lifeboat? put 11 people on the ship. Who perishes so the others can live? Is her way to fit everybody in the lifeboat?

Ron stormed up the stairs in a huff, and a tearful-eyed Marie stared at me. I avoided eye contact. Suddenly, the pattern of the carpet was the most excruciating thing in the world. Am I a bad mother? She sputtered. Huh?

Am I a bad mother if I go against his wishes? He's still a child, so... Marie paused and nervously swallowed a glove of spit. If, if I slip in some zipper clone and just take a bit of his blood, does that make me a bad mother? I suddenly became aware of just how harshly my nails were digging into my palms. The stress of being the deciding factor was making my stomach do somersault. I'm as mommy, and I know what's right, she justified. Did she not know I was basically a child too?

How could she ask a 19-year-old what's right? I don't know, I whispered. Technically, it didn't matter to me what happened to this town. I could just leave. Marie and Ron could just leave. I could get a taxi to the train station and maybe, just maybe, forget about all this after a few months. Marie broke down into complete sobs, her shoulders bounced with each shaky breath. I still refused to look at her.

I need to do this. I need to. She inhaled deeply. He won't know of his sleeping. Ron knew. He was gone in the morning. He left no notes or messages, but his neatly made bed and missing essentials

were more than enough to tell Marie and me that he did not plan on coming back. Days passed, the coward in me was unable to leave a grieving woman alone in a town full of beast. But my sleepless nights of anxiety and fear have been taken had begun to take its toll by day three.

By day four, I received an email from Ron. He told me he was okay, and he didn't intend on coming back. He told me to keep away from the town that I don't want to be there five days after the lampmen haven't been fed. I don't think you realise that, despite being gone for four days, it had been five days since they had been fed. A shriek rang through the house. I sprinted to see a manic marion.

pressed up against the door, the dizzying sense of gas ran havoc through the house. They're outside, they're all outside, she shook everywhere. I sped into the living room and pulled the curtains open a millimeter. At first, the daylight blinded me, but I could see dozens of street lamps scattered across what was meant to be an empty, crunchy road. My heart dropped to my stomach and joined the tsunami of anxiety with it. outside every house and on each side of the road stood a motionless lampman. Shakily, I closed the curtain, but my hands remained with a tight grip on the textured fabric.

Damn it, damn it, Marie Coward. The back door, we need to leave, I called out. Marie's back garden led out to a large field, the perfect escape from the lampman. Marie made it out of the back door first, but stopped suddenly. In the distance, scattered across the area were more of them, none moving but menacing. I gagged on the smell and pulled Ransmon back into the house. What do we do? We can't leave. Marie dropped to a kitchen chair and rested a face in her palms.

Rather than offering, I don't know, I let the silence settle. Lights radiated in from under the curtains and dimly lit each room. It seemed like a nice summer day outside. However, the sky remained a dull grey. The warm orange light that crept in belonged to the lampman, and it served as a constant reminder to Marie and me that we were in danger. We should try at night. Something clicked inside of Marie, and she gained a sudden authority.

We'll go into the field where there's less of them. If it's low light, we might be able to sneak through. Every hour or so, the lampman grew closer in the field. Luckily, by the time it was dark, there were still hundreds of metres away from the garden. Marie and I stood in the darkness of a garden as she mapped out our escape route. Once over the gate, the field's grass brushed against my thighs and Marie's hips. Okay, crouch and follow me. We shuffled through the jungle of grass.

The blades tick on my chin and my calves burned from the strain. Marie led us towards the woods. She claimed that if they were out on the streets, The woods would be the easiest method of escape, providing we get past the singular lampman that was guarding it. Once we arrived at a dangerous distance from the beast, it became clear that was when Marie's plan ended. We watched the lampman, hopeful they would just leave,

but that was wishful thinking. Inside the woods, a branch cracked, and it turned to the sound, but didn't follow it. I wondered if they were able to see, or if perhaps they used some other sense, I signalled for Marie to stay still and crawled a safe distance from her Using my phone's flashlight I shine a light towards the figure And it paid no notice

It wasn't the evidence I needed But it was enough for me to make a rough and desperate guess We needed a loud, constant noise Not the thumb of a throne stone or a crack of a branch Something the scream I'm here without putting either of us in danger I unlocked the scream the brightness hurt my eyes. I then turn on a podcast loud enough to be heard by the creature,

and it definitely caught his attention. I hardly had time to react as a lanky monster came sprinting towards the noise, desperate for a kill. Within seconds it closed the gap between us, and in a panic, I threw the phone. The screen's brightness had made me blind in the dark, and just as my eyes adjusted, I was able to make out Marie's silhouette, and very quickly her face was lit up,

by a warm orange. I watched as she'd die for the phone and stumbled back up to throw it, but it was far too late. Marie's body was lifted into the air, her screams attracting the attention of the surrounding lampmen, who paid no notice to me

as the first one pulled the woman in half. The spread of viscera lit up from the lights, the crimson liquid in guts glistening into the now open faces of the surrounding lampmen, and instead of dim orange lights, their flames grew solid and bright. She had lied about her blood. Shakly and quietly, I rushed into the woods.

With each step, the liquid in my stomach scaled my throat like a mountain, burning my throat. I don't know how long it took me to find civilization, but I didn't dare tell anybody what happened when I did. Police assumed I was some sort of runaway, but once I was ready to talk they helped me get home. Seven years later, I find a strange comfort in living in a city these days. I know that as long as the streetlights are modern, I am safe in their artificial white glow.

If you ever find yourself driving through Little Barford, put your foot down and don't stop until you're far away. That town belongs. to the Lampman now.