CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The Quiet Hours On Sycamore Court Are From 8pm To 10am" Creepypasta

Episode Date: February 13, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by beardify: 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►Peter Ocampo: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/WK...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-

When we told the real estate agent, we were looking for a tranquil place to start a family. She leaned in close and nodded sympathetically. When we told her our budget, she leaned back in a chair and laughed until she almost fell over. My wife and I glanced at each other. Had we said something wrong? Wait, I'm sorry, our agent fixed herself. You're serious? Actually, yes, I frowned.

My wife is having a very complicated pregnancy. She might not be able to work for quite some time after, so... Ah, well, the agent looked out the window with a thousand yards there. I didn't mean to laugh. It's just the most you can get for that amount around here is a cardboard box, utilities not included. She sighed. When's the baby due again?

Any day now. my wife smiled, but it was more like a grimace. I could tell she was in pain. I squeezed the hand. We'd wanted to start a new journey in our life together, but we hadn't imagined it would be like this. Maybe I showed more pain than I meant to. Maybe the real estate agent just wanted to get rid of us.

Whatever the reason, she sighed again and pulled a worn binder from a filing cabinet. At first, I thought I was misread. reading the page she showed us. There were several offers, all for the same neighbourhood, all within our price range. What's the catch? My wife crossed her arms over a round belly. I nudged her, trying to hint that we couldn't afford to be picky. But she had a point.

We didn't want to raise a child in a dangerous neighbourhood if we could help it. Why don't we take the drive over and you two lovebirds can have a look for yourself? It wasn't a Mr. Rogers' neighbourhood, but it wasn't a crack then either. The houses were older and a little on the small side, but overall, Sycamore Court seemed like exactly the sort of calm, out-of-the-way spot we were looking for. There are at least three houses for sale nearby. It seemed like we could have our pick. My wife, Kara, however, were still suspicious.

We made several trips back to the neighbourhood at different times of day, but didn't see anything that set off alarm bells. The only strange thing, in fact, was a sign nailed to a large dead tree at the entrance to the cul-de-sac. Sycamore Court, quiet hours, 8pm to 10 a.m. Oddly, the sign faced inward, away from any visitors and toward the residence. That's a little draconian, down. Don't you think? My wife muttered the night we noticed it.

14 hours of silence. At least they don't have an HOA, I muttered. Don't worry, I checked. And anyway, you don't want a bunch of college parties or bargain dogs keeping up the baby, right? My wife nodded, but her eyes lingered on the homemade sign as we drove away. On moving day, a week later, I caught her staring at it again. Does that sign really bother you so much? I asked, wiping sweat from my forehead.

It's just odd, that's all. Kara lay ahead on my shoulder as I took a break from cardboard boxes and second-hand furniture. I get a bad feeling about it. Then again, I don't know what I'm feeling half the time these days. I'm just ready for this to be over. I know, honey, I... Hey there, neighbor. A ball guy with jug ears and...

a plaid shirt waved to us. He was holding a plate of cookies. Mickey Holsterter, please the meet you. I pumped his hand. My wife thanked him for the cookies. You might not get too many folks coming to welcome you, so I thought I ought to... Oh, Karen and I exchanged a glance.

Why's that? Sick and more courts, a busy place. Lots of movement, you know. People coming and going. Everybody but me. Mickey shrugged. He almost looked sad. Well, me and Miss Crabtree.

My new neighbour indicated a dumby-looking house halfway down the street. She lives there, Miss Crabtree. Miss Crabtree and her cats. I reckon we got more cats than people living on Sycamore Court these days. Mickey laughed to himself. Well, you folks take care now. I gotta get back. Lots to do.

Keep him busy, you know. Keep him busy. Mickey Holstetter was definitely. that, busy. Between loads of boxes, I watched him wash his car, wax his boat, get on the roof to inspect his shingles, and clear out his gutters. The guy's house practically sparkled, but I felt a little bad for him. He seemed lonely.

I made a mental note to bake him something in return as an excuse to swing by and check on him. You should have asked him about the sign, my wife remarked, as we sipped lemonade, and watched the sunset from our porch. Yeah, I yawned, maybe next time. We were too exhausted the talk, but as a distant clock struck 8pm, our new neighbours treated us to a spectacle that,

I later learned, was an almost nightly occurrence. The retiree working on his classic car checked his watch, panicked, then unplugged his radio. We watched him put his tools away, very gently, without so much as a clatter. A no-nonsense mother scooped up her two children from the yard with one hand and muted a television by remote with the other.

Our nearest neighbour had been trimming his lawn with a posh mower, leaving his yard one third cut, he rushed the mower to his garage. When he lowered the door, we noticed he placed phone core below it to muffle the sound. All up and down the street, the humdrum background noise of suburban life were cut off, as if by guillotine. They take their curfew seriously, I guess. I tried to joke, but my voice was swallowed by the sea of silence.

Not even the birds and the power lines cord. I glanced over at Kara. She was clutching her stomach. I think, my wife grunted, then passed out. Only then did I notice the spreading blood stain between the thighs of a sundress. I sped down the streets so fast I almost ran over a pair of cats crossing the street

I didn't care My thoughts were with my wife, Kara Our unborn daughter, Tess And getting her to the emergency room as quickly as possible And that was how we came to spend our first night In our new home Not in the master bedroom But in the hospital

The next few days were a nightmarish maze Of doctor visits, insurance calls an awful, awful waiting. I forgot all about the strangeness surrounding our new house. I think we even forgot we had a new house. My whole world was just Kara, Tess, hospital intercoms, and bitter coffee in starophone cups. When Kara and Tess were finally given the all-clear to leave the hospital over a week later, there was a surprise waiting for us on Sycamore Court.

Another one of the forensic signs was gone. In its place was an orange sofa, a bunch of sunburned guys in polo shirts and baseball caps, a boombox and a game of cornhole. Greek letters hung over the door. A fraternity was setting up its off-campus party house in our neighbourhood. After getting Kara settled in bed, I returned to the porch to observe how things developed. Just like when we moved in, Mickey Holstetter brought over some baked to. goods. The fat guys offered him some beer from their cooler, although they didn't seem to pay much attention to what he was saying. Mickey kept pointing at his wrist where a watch should be,

trying to emphasize something, but somebody inside had pulled up the big game on a flat-screen TV. With thumbs-up and finger guns, the brothers left Mickey Holstetter standing crestfallen in an empty yard strewn with beer cans. It was almost 2 a.m., and the base from their speakers was so loud, it was rattling the window panes. I felt like a crumpy old man as I peaked out the blinds. Harry, Harry, Harry! The crowd was chanting. A tanned shirtless guy with frosted tips and a body of a Greek card smiled,

waved and did a cake stand on the porch. He'd already had too much, though, and a couple of seconds later, beer, and maybe his lunch was dribbling down Harry's chin. He was about to fall and split his head on the concrete. The moment the keg flipped, a big guy with Coke bottle glasses and a huge fro ran up, scooping Harry into his arms, an oversized pucky toddler with six-pack abs. Theo! Theo! The crowd chanted, as Theo, apparently, carried Harry to the couch and lame in a position that would prevent him from choking.

My wife groaned and rolled over. The baby wailed. I wondered how long these new tenants would last. It turned out, I didn't have to wonder, for long. The frat house stayed quiet throughout the next day, and the next. I was coming in from work when I almost ran into two frat boys standing on a porch like evangelists for the church of Natty Light. Good afternoon, sir, the red-headed guy began.

I was wondering if you could help us. Have you seen or heard from either of these two? His friend, a bald guy with a stud earring, showed me an image of two smiling young men at a football game. Two young men I recognised. They're Harry and Theo, the Redhead explained. Our brothers, they're renting the house for us. I mean, they were, but they've been missing ever since the inauguration party.

Have you heard anything? I shook my head. I felt sorry for the two grinning faces in the photo but I had a wife and child to take care of and I was already exhausted the strain of the past week had hit me with a brain fog that looking back probably kept me from noticing things I should have like the cats

just as Mickey Holsterter had said it sometimes felt like there were more cats than people on Sycamore Court have you met Harry and Theo Kara asked me one evening. What? I asked. Sure, I hadn't heard right. Harry and Theo, she chided. The cats.

Sure enough, two kittens were huddled beneath a front porch swing where my wife relaxed. One was Tan and Lean with golden hair around his ears. Harry read the tag on its collar. The other was chunky, with puffy hair and a pattern of black hair around his eyes. It almost looked like glasses. I shivered.

I didn't check his collar, but I was sure it had read Theo. Harry and Theo were the names of the two frat boys who went missing. Ah, Kara wrinkled a nose. That's dark. I sat up, stared as three dark shapes rushed us. More cats, big ones too. They circled around Harry and Theo like playground bullies. They growled, and I imagined what he said. it would feel like to be threatened by something three times my size with sharp claws.

Before either of us could intervene, all five cats scampered, and Tess, awoken in my arms, started to wail. With an uneasy look and Miss Crabtree's house, we scampered inside. After all, it was almost 8 p.m. A few days later, the big Greek letters and orange sofa were gone. The Forensign was back up in the yard of the ex-fraternity. house and 14 nightly hours of silence had been restored to Sycamore Court. Well, most of Sycamore Court anyway. In our house, we had Tess, a little screambox who couldn't care less about signs or curfews. Everyone had warned us about what life was like with a newborn, but the experience was something

else. To make matters worse, something kept waking up the baby. Maybe it was just the sleep deprivation. but every time I ran back to check on Tess, I thought I saw something scurry away from the window. I was about to ask Kara if we could afford a baby monitor when I heard a knock at the door, or rather I heard a soft tapping and noticed a shadow on the porch.

I realized I gotten used to not seeing, and especially not hearing anyone after eight, and it set me on edge. I gripped the baseball bat I kept in the umbrella stand as I unlatched the door. Mickey holstered as big friendly eyes blinked at me. Hey, neighbor, shh, Mickey cut me off. Let me in, I gotta talk to you.

I scoffed, but I did as I was told. It was all so strange. I closed the door and crossed my arms, impatient to get this over with and get back to my crying daughter upstairs. Look, uh... Mickey's eyes darted around the room Like he didn't know where to begin

You gotta shut that kid up Excuse me, I snapped You saw what happened to those college kids, didn't you? You wanted to happen to you Are you threatening me? I realized that I was still holding the bat And my knuckles had gun white around its handle No, Mickey yelled

Nobody, no I'm helping you I mean Jesus, I shouldn't even come over here if she finds out she? I demanded. Who is she? Look, I gotta go. Mickey whispered.

I don't care what you have to do. Soundproof the room. Move her to the basement. Gag her for all I care. But if you don't do something quick. With a nervous little shrug, he was at the door. Who was that, honey?

Kara called down the stairs to me. Just Mickey, babe. I stalled, trying to find a diplomatic way of telling my wife that at least one of our neighbours was a dangerous nut job. I was so zoned out that I didn't notice what was happening outside until it was too late.

Through the peephole, I watched Mickey Holtz that his lonely shadow pass under each streetlight on the way back to his house. But he wasn't alone. By the third or fourth pool of light, I noticed the dark, lithe forms, stalking our eccentric neighbour. Dozens of cats were right behind Mickey And he had no idea

Mickey Holstetter Never made it To the sixth streetlight This time It was the police going door to door And they didn't like when I asked questions back Don't you think it's a little lot That there have been three disappearances here in the last

What month People go missing all the time The officer retorted And don't worry sir There's no sign of foul play. An adventure that a lot more folks than that have gotten missing in this same neighbourhood, haven't

they, officer? I bet if I look up the data, statistical anomaly has to happen somewhere, right? When I kept protesting, the cop got in my face. Look, Guy, we got limited resources, right? Got to put them towards cases we can actually solve. Otherwise,

bye-bye funding. Non-violent missing persons ain't that type of case. I'm sure you don't want to obstruct our investigation. his partner leaned in menacingly. Upstairs, Tess started to howl again. I let it drop.

It wasn't easy, but I convinced Kara to move Tess's cradle to the basement, which meant one of us had to sleep down there too. I took that one on myself, but I could tell my wife was unhappy with the arrangement. She didn't like feeling like we were prisoners in our own house. She didn't like living in fear. Of what?

Despite the countless arguments we'd had about the strange rule and mysterious disappearances, we'd yet to put a name to exactly what it was that threatened us. Maybe we were afraid that naming it would make it real. Standing outside at night on the silent street, I felt like I was trespassing in some forbidden domain. Even worse, I could still hear Tess's cries. They weren't as loud as I'd feared, but they still broke curfew. I suppose it was only a matter of time.

Kara was in the kitchen, and I was changing Tess's diaper that night. It must have been around midnight. Honey? Kara shouted from upstairs. Come here. I'd never heard such fear in my wife's voice before. Returning Tess to a crib, I rushed upstairs. Kara was peeking out the window.

frozen. I didn't understand what she was looking at, until my eyes adjusted, and I could finally make out the dark shape, leaving Miss Crabtree's porch and heading for our door. Maybe it was just fear, lack of sleep, and tricks of the light, but the figure's proportions seemed all wrong. It moved more like an over large marionette than a person, and when it finally came to a halt beneath our porch light, I think I actually stopped breathing for a moment. The thing outside was inches from our door, but it didn't knock. It just stood there, waiting. When I moved to get a better look at it, I saw its head snap towards me, quick as an owl tracking a mouse.

I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed the baseball bat and ripped open the door, only to be confronted by the strangest sight I'd ever seen. The figure in front of me was tall as a baseball player, but hunched as an old crone. Its face was a crude mask of a smiling grandmother, badly painted. Its headscarf and baggy clothes were clearly meant to conceal the thing, or several things moving underneath. In its gloved hands, it held an antiquated type-to-talk machine. For a moment, you just stared at each other. me and the creepy, public-like thing on my doorstep.

Hello, neighbor, a mechanical voice greeted me. Miss Crabtree, I guessed. With a creaking rattle of wood, the figure bowed. You make a lot of noise, neighbor, it said. Cries, cries, cries, cries. That's our baby, Tess. she's a newborn, babies cry, I retorted. The thing twisted his face to the side.

There was a long silence. Make it stop, or I will. Whatever the thing was, it had gone too far. I lifted the baseball bat. And I heard my wife scream from the depths of the basement. Forgetting the apparition of my porch, I charged down the stairs. Tess was streaking. The narrow open window flapped in the cool night air.

Kara clutched the crib, which was empty, apart from a few drops of blood on the white bedsheets. A large bridal cat held our baby by the neck. With horror, I realized he was preparing to leap out the window with its surprise. You will not, I roared, swinging full force at the huge feline. It escaped out the window but was forced to drop Tess. barreling up the stairs to race Tess to the hospital, we barely even noticed that Miss Crabtree was gone.

More doctors, more tests. Kara and I were holding each other in the waiting room when a nurse emerged with a clipboard to tell us that Tess was fine, minus a few scratches. She'd run a blood test to check for infections and let us know the results. But we were free to go home.

If we dared. We didn't. I wish I had an explanation for what happened to us on Sycamore Court, what happened to Harry, Theo, Mickey, and who knows how many others. But I don't. We resold the house at a loss and moved into a dingy basement apartment far away from my work, and far away from packs of cats, vanishing neighbours, and weird, animatronic puppets. far away from the quiet hours on Sycamore Court