CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - The previous tenant left some unwanted items. Now I know why.

Episode Date: July 16, 2024

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saturdead:   / mister_mayhem  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"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA 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 got a job right out of college and had to find a new place at short notice. Using my socials, I got in contact with a landlord through a mutual contact. They had a spare apartment that was just made available. The previous tenant had been evicted a couple of weeks prior because of unpaid rent, so the apartment hadn't even been advertised yet. The apartment was nice enough, but all my attention was on my new job. I pretty much just brought a bed and a desktop computer,

leaving two of my three rooms empty for the time being. I was uncertain if I was going to stay there long term or not, but I figured time would decide. I ended up staying there several years. I settled into my job, furnished the place up, and made it into a proper home. Those first few stressful weeks became nothing but a distant memory. About three years after moving in, I had to stash some furniture.

I contacted my landlord to see if there was some storage space I could use. He reminded me that there was storage on the bottom floor that I hadn't used. I didn't even know it was there. Not that surprising, seeing as I was really stressed out when I first moved in, Apparently, the space had been used by the previous tenant who might have left some items there. I hadn't had any use for such a space before, so I hadn't thought about asking. So, imagine my surprise when I get to the storage, only to see a crash test dummy. Using a key I got from the landlord, I unlocked the padlock and got a close look.

It was a white, life-size crash test dummy with a hastily scribbled Mr. Mayhem written on the back of its head with a black sharpie. The dummy was scuffed and worn, but still had a plastic smile on its face. Its eyes were these little painted black dots. It looked like it had been through hell and a half. I asked the landlord about it.

Turns out the previous tenant and used it as a sort of mascot. They brought it out for fun, for parties, pranks, that kind of thing. I saw him use it the cheetah carpool lane once, my landlord shared. It was just this funny thing he'd gotten from his job when they upgraded to newer dummies. It was probably more than 40 years old. I cleaned out the storage and stashed away my furniture. I thought about what to do with Mr. Mayhem.

and figured it'd be a fun piece for my upcoming Halloween party. I could dress it up in something and keep it by the entrance. It'd be the talk of the town. Still, there was something unnerving about it. The way its joints creaked and cracked, that frozen painted on grin, the sloppy joints rattling haphazardly with every little movement. My yearly Halloween party,

is nothing extravagant. I get a couple of friends together and we dress up, then we hit one of the local clubs for a costume party. It's like a pre-party, only with about 18 people or so. I dressed up Mr. Mayhem in a cheap pirate costume and had his stand by the door with a tray of snacks. I went as the penguin, but everyone mistook me for the Monopoly Man.

People came around at around seven. Mr. Mayhem was a big hit. There's just something about dummies and dolls that rub people the wrong way. It's the uncanny valley thing of it, I guess. It was the centerpiece for a lot of selfies that night. As the punchbowl got emptier and the night got darker, we all left for the club, leaving Mr. Mayhem by the door. I had a lot of fun, a few drinks too many.

There was a bit of drama with two friends of mine having an argument, but all in all, it was a good night. An acquaintance of mine won the costume contest with a sort of bioluminescent fish thing. It was insane. If you got a costume that you got to charge batteries for, you've taken it to another level. In the moment, I couldn't tell anything was wrong. But if I'd listened a little closer, I would have heard a thing or two. to. Cracking and creaking, heard from the alley outback, as something moved. A bouncer mentioned a guy dressed as a crash test on me, a dark silhouette just outside

the frosted glass of the bathroom window. By the end of the night, I made my way home and slid the keys into my door, only to notice that it was already unlocked. I got a swaner locked it, but figured I must have missed it in all the commotion. I did a drunken half-check around the apartment to see that nothing was stolen. There wasn't. I didn't even think about checking for missed mayhem. If I had, I would have noticed there was nothing standing by the door, waiting for me with snacks. I would have noticed the bowl, having rolled off to the side, spilling wrapped toffee's and butter caramels

across the carpet. But no. My face planted into my bed and waited for another day. It wasn't until the next morning that I noticed it was missing. I sent a couple of texts to the others of the party asking if they did something to it. All I got was a resounding no in response. If anything, they just thought it had been a fun prop. I checked all of the over the apartment and the storage. I even asked my next door neighbor if they'd seen anything. Nothing.

Mr. Mayhem was just gone. It wasn't a big loss or anything, but I didn't like the idea of someone being in my apartment for no good reason. Things just don't disappear for nothing. If someone wanted a crash test dummy,

I could have sold it for a quick hundred or so. Instead, I found myself running back and forth, growing increasingly anxious about someone being in my space. I even call the landlord about having the locks changed. The following Monday, Mr. Mayhem was still missing. While it was still on my mind, I had a hundred more pressing matters at hand. It had started raining and absentmindedly wandered across the parking lot. I was almost at the front door when something in the back of my mind asked me,

to stop, like a sudden feeling of unease. It's hard to explain, a challenge to look a little closer. So I did, turning around and looking up, I could see Mr. Mayhem. It was on the roof of my apartment building with his head aligned straight forward. Someone must have dragged it up there as a joke. It looked like someone about to jump off a building. I was going to have to bring it down. I didn't want anyone to be accidentally traumatized.

I headed straight for the door to the stairwell, covering my head with a file folder. The rain was relentless. Something smashed into the pavement right in front of me. A loud plastic bang, as Mr. Mayhem hit the ground. A couple of feet further, and I'd have fingers. crushed. I just stood there for a moment, hearing the rain tapping against my file folder in my head. Mr. Mayhem was intact, but the body was just mangled. Every single extremity bent at an unnatural angle, but that didn't hamper that eerie painted on smile. I was a bit hesitant

to touch it. My heart was racing. That thing was heavy, and it had to be. It had to be a bit hesitant to touch it. My heart was racing. That thing was heavy, and it had fallen far enough to do some serious damage had it hit me, which it almost did. I dragged it back down into the basement storage. I had to shuffle around some furniture and ended up tossing it on top of an old sofa. I locked the storage of the padlock, turned off the lights, and closed the door behind me. I'd get rid of that thing soon in love. off. I went to bed early that night. I kept getting shakes and twitches as if my body was still recoiling from having Mr. Mayhem crash into the pavement right in front of me. I felt twitchy

as if I hadn't slowed down yet. I was stuck in high gear and it carried over into the next morning. I stress cleaned my kitchen and bedroom before I even got breakfast. As I was cleaning in an around the fridge, I scooped out what looked like an old fainted note, opposed it that must have been stuck to the fridge by the previous tenant. Don't let it out. I stood there, staring at the note for a good few minutes, letting my paranoia run rampant. I tried to explain it away, but every thought came circling back around to one point. There must have been a reason for Mr. Mayhem being left behind.

And what happened to the previous tenant? Over the next few days, I considered how to get rid of it. I thought about just driving it to the garbage dump and dropping it off somewhere. But I didn't like the idea of it being let out. I could burn it, but I had to get a good space to do it. I could just sell it, of course. that didn't feel responsible either. I was running out of patience and ideas,

so I finally decided on soaring it up and dropping it into the river. I prepped a backpack with a saw, duct tape, a hammer, and garbage bags. The following night, I got to work. I dragged Mr. Mayama out to my car and stuffed it into the trunk. I didn't want to do it in the daylight as the thing still looked like a person and I didn't want to have to explain myself I was going to drive down to a clear spot near the river

and get to work it wasn't far but I had to cross the highway it was a short drive but it was tense it felt like I was doing something wrong like Mr Mayhem was a person rather than a dummy As I closed the trunk and got behind the wheel, I steeled myself.

The moment I put the keys in, I got this strange impulse that I should have duct tape its hands and feet. Then again, why should I? It was just a dummy. I got stuck waiting at two separate left turns. Each time I just sat there, listening to the hum of the engine, expecting to hear a thing. expecting to hear a thumping or smacking, something coming from the trunk. I was expecting the thing to do something. It wasn't a rational thing to listen for, but I couldn't help it.

And yet, nothing came. I crossed the highway, made my way down the river, and found a spot by a clearing where I wouldn't bother anyone. I parked my car, got out, and held my breath. as I opened the trunk. For a second, I could imagine someone lying there, a living person screaming, pleading for help. I blinked it away as the trunk revealed Mr. Mayhem in all his inanimate splendor.

There was nothing here to fear. Still, just chopping up something with the shape of a person was going to be uncomfortable. I dragged it out to the bank of the river, laid out my tools, and took a good look at it. I reached for the hammer first to break the joints. That would make it easier to soar. The thing was made to withstand serious punishment. Breaking it wouldn't be easy. I started with the left hand as a sort of test run.

I whacked out the joints and brought out the saw. But I got this sick feeling in my stomach with every crack. I never heard bone breaking, but I imagined that was it. I felt like a butcher, and those eyes. Those plain-looking painted on eyes. Just little dots, but I felt them boring into my mind. A cheap human imitation, but human nonetheless. I skipped ahead a few steps.

and aimed the hammer directly at its face. I brought the hammer down, smack after smack after smack, until the dummy cracked. The nose buckled inwards and the cheeks split into butterfly-shaped shards. I picked out pieces with my nails. I shuddered. There was some sort of padding on the inside that just made my skin crawl. There was something about the texture.

I paused. There was a small, white growth. A tooth. I stepped back, looking down at the broken dummy. Just beneath the cracked surface, embedded inside, was a dead man, mummified and dried within the confines of the plastic shell. I couldn't breathe. It had been there all along, hidden in plain sight.

There were so many things to do that I couldn't begin to form a coherent thought. Who do I call? What do I do? Could I possibly be liable for some kind of damage? Who was the person inside? Were they missing? I stepped back, dropping the hammer. I covered my mouth and took these little micro-breaths, repeating, Oh my God, to myself over and over,

as if the rocking motion would somehow. dislodge a good idea from the back of my mind. I decided I'd get back to my car and call the police. I hurried back, got into the driver's seat and closed the door. I took a cell phone, dialed the emergency services, and then heard a click. I looked to the left. Something fast moved my way,

and then the world turned upside down in a sudden shocker. pain. I drifted in and out of consciousness. Our sun were dark and cramped. It must have taken me at least ten minutes just to realize I was in the trunk of my car and the car was moving. I could hear the radio, albeit turned down. I had a swelling over my nose and my left eye and I could feel my sense of balance being shaky at best. I reached for my cell phone, but it was still in the passenger seat. I never managed to call the emergency services.

At some point the car came to a stop. I heard the door on the driver's side open and close and the sound of someone walking away. There was a slight echo to it, suggesting we were parked somewhere inside, possibly a large space. I didn't waste any time. Instead of trying to open the trunk, I wriggled and crawled my way into the backseat.

From there, I contorted myself into the driver's seat, opened the doors, and fumbled around for my cell phone. Looking up intermittently, I could see that I was in some kind of storage facility. It was hard to tell. The lights were off. As soon as I felt the cold metal of the phone, I picked it up, unlocked it, and dialed the emergency surfaces. It didn't take long for a voice to come in on the other end.

I've been kidnapped, I stuttered. I don't know where I am, but... If I hadn't talked so loud, I might have heard the footsteps coming back. If I'd been more attentive, I could have seen it in the rearview mirror. but I was both loud and inattentive, and it came at a great cost, because as the operator asked me about my name and location, the driver's side window was shattered into a thousand pieces. Something grabbed me by the neck and shoulder. A second later, I was flung through the window

and out onto the cold pavement, about eight feet or so. The cell phone tumbled to the ground as a white plight. plastic foot crushed it. Looking up, I saw it in full view. Mr. Mayhem, now revealing a death's head grin. I ran. I got to my feet and just took off. I could hear thumping plastic noises behind me as Mr. Mayhem followed. I ran straight through an abandoned workshop and a lunchroom. Finally, I slammed the door open to an unmarked space, hoping against hope it will be something useful. A small room packed to the brim with crashed test dummies. At least 50, standing shoulder to shoulder.

All those painted smiles and duck-like eyes. Or, looking my way, I didn't have time to see if they were like Mr. Mayhem or not. So instead of turning back, which would be a certain end, I pressed forward. I pushed my way past plastic arms, hands and torsos. Most were just empty shells, ready to be filled and used. Others were fully functional. I could have sworn a couple of heads turned my way, but I didn't stop to check.

I could hear the footsteps that followed me slow, and as I turned around, I realized I had no idea. idea where it had went. Just the sea of white, featureless creatures. And one of them was something else. I was afraid to move. I could be brushing up against that thing without even knowing. It was a sharp noise, as what sounded like broken glass being shuffled around on the floor. One clear sound of a shard being lifted. I tried to make my way. to the back of the room so I could circle back. Every now and then I'd look at the dummies, only to notice more of them with scribbles on the back of their head.

Miss Waters, Mr. Callone, all made with hasty scribbles. A stray thought crossed my mind. Maybe it wasn't Mr. Mayhem. But Mr. Mayhew, it had been kind of hard to tell. I had yet to run into it, as I began circling the dark corners of the room, making my way back the way I came. I had the sound of glass scraping against plastic, as something was coming closer. I had to keep myself from panicking.

There was no telling what would happen if I were to stumble in there. Instead I kept a steady pace trying to count my breaths. One, two, brushing up against another dummy. I stopped. Something was strange. It didn't have a left hand. It slowly turned my way, revealing a dead man's face. Mr. Mayhem.

An impromptu glass shank sliced at me, scraping the edge of my jacket and shattering against the wall. A handless left arm reached for me, but I pushed it as a side. I bowled over the lifeless dummies and headed straight for the door. Reaching it and leaving the dummies behind me, I slammed the door shut. I hastily looked to see if there was a lock, but there wasn't. Before I could make a plan, the door came off its hinges and tumbled to the ground like a cracked bowling pin.

Mr. Mayhem twitched forward. Every movement sudden and painful. Making my way back to the workshop, I realized that there was no way I could outrun it. Mr. Mayhem was both faster and more resilient. I was grasping at straws. There had to be something, anything. My daughter's chain coming down from the ceiling and kept going towards the back, only the stop. That chain...

I could use it. It was connected to a winch in the middle of the factory floor, probably used the hoist and move equipment. It would have to do. The timing had to be perfect. If I went too soon or too late, I'd be done for. I saw Mr. Mayhem approaching step by step, unblinking painted eyes replaced with hollow sockets.

Then, I pulled at the winch as hard as I could, hoping against hope. The effect was immediate. I hadn't seen the hook at the end. It shot straight up, impaling Mr. Mayhem's lower jaw. The chain was still slack, and it was getting closer. But it couldn't quite get to me anymore. Instead, I kept pulling and pulling and pulling. every rattle on the chain bringing it higher and higher into the air, like hoisting a flag.

As the chain clicked into a lock, Mr. Mayhem was dangling 15 feet or so in the air. It stopped moving. Even though it couldn't move its face, I could feel it looking at me, flotting. This wasn't going to be the end of it. I made my way back to the car, calling the emergency services as I wiped the broken glass from the driver's seat. As I was asked for a location, I noticed something on the far walls, a series of overalls hanging at the edge of the door, three to be exact, one for Patty Waters and another for John Callone,

and the final one for Samson Mayhew. Eventually, the police came. I'd gone outside and collapsed against the wall, crushing a handful of overgrown wildflowers on my way down. I just sat there, picking the petals of a blue sunflower, when the officers came around to ask me questions. I tried to explain that I'd been kidnapped and assaulted, but there was no way for me to tell them

that the crash test dummy had done it. Instead, I had to live. lie through my teeth. I had to say that my mystery attacker had hoisted that dummy up into the air. It didn't take long for the police to find not one with three bodies. Three workers at the abandoned factory. All presumed dead and missing. Stuffed within the framing of the crash test dummies they themselves had made decades ago.

This was about two years ago. somewhere in that ballpark. I haven't seen or heard anything about those dummies since. I think they cleared out the storage and I think they had some kind of forensic specialist on site. But there was no public announcement or accusation. I was only called in once to make a basic statement, but there was no follow-up.

I've been imagining those three dummies sitting locked up in some storage, just biding their time, that dead face waiting to look my way again. Now, the reason why write this is because of something I read the other month. There was an article about a break in at the county evidence locker, resulting in one wounded officer and a handful of pieces of evidence go missing. These salins were described as two men and a woman. they were described as bald and wearing plain white clothes. If I was a betting man, I'd say there isn't much time

before we start seeing more than three of these misters and misses. If I hadn't gotten out of there, I'm pretty sure there was an empty casing that would, in time, have my name on it, and maybe. This still is.