CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The Results from my DNA Genealogy Test shattered everything I I knew about my life" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 22, 2021

AUTHOR'S SUBREDDIT► https://www.reddit.com/r/HorrorsOfSta...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by R-M-Staniforth: https://www.reddit.com/r/HorrorsOfSta...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"- 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-

I sat against the red and brown brick wall outside the police station, knees tucked into my chest. My heavy breaths clouded in front of me as the cold winter air bitter my skin, making my fingers numb. But I didn't care. The cold air provided me with the only sense of peace that I could find right now. Just yesterday, I was a normal teenage kid, living a normal teenage life with normal parents who loved me. Today, everything I thought I knew about my life was shattered. My family, the Antonovs, always boasted proud Russian heritage. My grandparents on both sides of the family migrated from the USSR when they were just children.

My father always told me dramatic versions of the stories of his grandfather, Maxim Antonov. Maxim migrated to the United States with his family, only $6.55 in his pocket. However, we knew very little about our family genealogy past Maxim, thanks to their talent being completely destroyed in the war. With all these new DNA genealogy tests now readily available, I thought it would be fun to surprise my parents by getting a more detailed picture of our true ancestry. I researched these test kits for hours, and I was amazed. I just knew my parents would love this, so I secretly purchased the test kit with the money I made

raking leaves and shoveling snow. I went to the store with my cash and change. I handed the cashier my wrinkly, disorganized bills, mostly with fives, tens and ones on them. The board cashier gave me a noticeable sigh, but counted the money out anyway, before handing me a receipt and a small phone box. Out of the box, I pulled a small tube in sterile packaging.

I filled the tube to the line with clear, bubbly spit. Then I sealed the enclosed pre-label box and dropped it off at the nearest blue postal dropbox. The results took a long time. I checked my email regularly, hoping to see a notification that my results were ready to view. I grew impatient waiting. It had been three weeks, then four weeks, then five weeks. Finally, five weeks and six days later during online school, I got the notification. your DNA genealogy test results are ready to view.

I hurried to the website and typed to the keys so fast that I entered my password incorrectly, not once but twice. Finally, my account opened up. I eagerly opened the genealogy chart, excited to bring incredible insights in clarity to my family. When I opened the results, however, I found only confusion instead of clarity. There wasn't any Russian listed at all. The colour-coded bullet points showed that I'm 62% Scottish, 11% Welsh, 10% German, 8% Italian, 5% Arabic, and 4% Indigenous American. Not even a fraction of Russian heritage was listed. The detail map showed coloured migration patterns on my alleged ancestors dating back to the 1700s,

but not a single one of those coloured dotted lines touched Soviet land. I was so confused and disappointed. I thought I would be getting a detailed explanation as to my family's genealogy, but instead I just found a bunch of mumbo-jumbo that didn't add up. I figured if there was one person who might be able to explain this one, it would be my father. I was disappointed that I couldn't give him the awesome surprise that I had hoped for, but now I was the one who needed answers.

So I walked into his home office. and confessed what I did, and asked why my genealogy wasn't Russian. My father was rarely a person to be quick to anger, but when I showed the unusually calm and collected man the results, his face turned red and his lips twisted into a grimace as if he had just drank sour milk. I had never in my life seen him so livid, waving his arms around, with spit droplets flying from his mouth with each word he yelled.

After 30 minutes of listening to this terrifying rant about how those tests were fake and unreliable, an outright scam according to him, my father demanded that I disable my account and never speak of it again. Never in my life had I ever felt so let down. I was just trying to make my family proud and could not understand why my dad was so mad. And last, I disabled my account, deleting it all and walked back. back to my room, staring at the ground with slumped shoulders. The ensuing days felt weird and awkward at home with my dad, so I barricaded myself in the sanctuary of my room to avoid any contact with him.

He did the same. My mom got weird too after my dad undoubtedly told her what I did. I could feel her avoiding eye contact with me. They even confiscated my cell phone. Finally, it was Monday. One of the two days each week that I had in-person saw. schooling. I was relieved to hop on my bike and ride away from my now tense home, away from the trauma and tension. As I arrived at school and talked to my friends, I finally found relief

and felt like myself again. That, however, would not last long. It was only the first period when I was called to the office. I'd never been called to the office before, so I nervously collected my things, dropping my books in front of my entire class. I strode quickly to the administrative officers, my heart beating through my chest. The second I walked through those doors, I found two police officers looking at me intently. Are you Max Antonov? asked one of the officers. Um, yeah, who are you? I replied, nervously, with my thumbs circling each other in front of me.

I had never been in trouble at some. school, let alone in trouble with the police. My mind raised at the possibilities of where I could have gone wrong. Maybe, I thought, it was my frequent jaywalking. The officer must have noticed my word expression. Don't worry, you're not in any trouble. He assured me, leaning down to appear less threatening. My name is Detective Reynolds, and this is my partner, Detective Carter.

He gestured to the female officer beside him. We need to have a word with you at the station. Why? Is everything okay? Was there an accident? I asked quickly, as my mind now raised with the thought that my parents must have had a tragic accident. There is no emergency, Detective Carter chimed in, showing a gentle smile. This is concerning a cold case.

We'll explain more down at the station. I was concerned, but I could tell that whatever was going on was serious. I obliged and followed the detectives out to their car. Detective Reynolds was kind enough to grab my bike and attach it to the car's bike rack. Finally, we arrived at the station. I was guided to a room in the back. It wasn't an interrogation room, but an office with a couch and a few chairs. I sat down on the couch next to Carter as Reynolds pulled up a chair and sat in front of me.

I couldn't help but feel like there were being a little too simple. pathetic, making sure that I was comfortable and offering me soda and snacks. We need to talk to you about your DNA test that you submitted to a DNA genealogy company, said Detective Reynolds, sitting back in a chair right in front of me. His arms rested at the backrest while he nervously tinkered with his wedding ring. This may seem like a shock, but your profile matches a murder victim in a local cold case. He took a long, deep breath. before dropping the bomb.

Max, I really don't know how to explain this to you, but according to your DNA profile, the victim could be your biological mother. Oh, that's not possible, I showed him. I saw my mom this morning. Detective Carter called onto Reynolds' struggle to explain the touchy situation and interjected herself in a calm and reassuring tone. She gave me a gentle squeeze on my shoulder

and looked me in the eyes. Max, the victim was found murdered and a three-week-old baby was missing and never found. That crime happened on January 6, 2003, which is the date you listed as your birthday? Detective Reynolds wiped his forehead before finally looking up to make eye contact with me. The way he was looking at me,

as if I was a wounded pet, showed that he certainly believed his twisted theory. Look, I know this is a lot, but we'd like to take your footprints in a confirmation DNA sample so we can compare them to the footprints on the birth certificate of the missing baby as well as DNA retrieve from the baby's pacifier all I could do was nod her forensics officer came into the room and swabbed both my cheeks with long Q-tips

after that she pulled out a kit that she used to get my footprints hours passed as I waited for the results I felt a pressure in my chest as I paced the room, sat on the couch, then paced the room again. I even tried to read a magazine, but I couldn't read more than two sentences without my mind drifting off into its habitual overthinking, which was now turbocharged. There had to be a mistake. I was certain that the company had accidentally swat my DNA with someone else, and that was the reason for all of this confusion. but what if? The officer said they were rushing the tests

but it felt like I was pacing that room for days on end. Finally, Reynolds and Carter walked into the room, failing to hide their dismal expressions. He put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a pitiful look. Son, I'm sorry to say, both the prints and the DNA are a confirmed match. So, that's how I ended up sitting outside the book, police station, with a concerned Detective Carter trying to decide if I need medical care, or if

pressure was enough. She kindly guided me outside after I started hyperventilating inside that room. Detective Reynolds was still inside, likely making a plan to arrest my parents, or whoever the hell they were. I looked up to Detective Carter, who awkwardly leaned against the wall with her hands in the pockets. Do you think I can get a drink of water? I asked. Yeah, no problem Max,

she replied with a gentle smile back in her face. You just stay right here and I'll be right back. The second, the door closed behind her, I jumped to my feet and ran to the parking lot where my bike was. I hopped on my bike and peddled

as fast as I possibly could toward my house, barely noticing how hard I was breathing. It was only a couple of miles away, so I arrived in maybe ten minutes, fueled by panic and adrenaline. My dad's car wasn't there, but I knew my mother was at least home. I sprinted upstairs and burst into a room, sending the door slamming into the wall and bouncing back at me. She looked up from a book, taken aback by my boisterous entrance and heavy breathing. Is everything okay, Max? she asked.

I came to confront her. But now that we were face to face, I stuttered through words, not sure how to start this conversation. Finally, still panting, I blurted out. Did... Did you kill my mother? Her eyes widened in shock. But then her expression quickly changed to a mixture of sadness and sympathy. I am your mother, Max, she told me quietly.

Then why? I started D.L. before taking a deep breath and resuming in a more controlled tone. Then why did the police just match my DNA to the kidnapped baby of a murder victim? Her face perked at the mention of the police. The police? You call the police? She said, panicked as she walked across the room to close the curtains. No, they found me.

She hurried to a nightstand, from which she retrieved her silver revolver. We need to leave right now, Max. get in the car. You need to tell me the truth. I yelled, this time unable to remain composed. My hands and legs were shaking and my chest felt heavy and tight again. My mom froze as the police sirens were now audible in the distance. They were coming our way and quickly. You want the truth? She asked as the sirens slowly grew louder and the neighbourhood dogs joined in. Well, here's the truth. She stepped closer and leaned towards.

me, clutching the gun with a finger on the trigger. I suddenly realized that I may have put myself in a situation with a murderer. Obviously, I didn't know this woman the way I thought. Could she kill me, too? That woman was not your mother. She was a worthless herring, tweaking whore. She practically spat the last word out, not even attempting to hide a spite. We tried for years to have a baby, but we couldn't.

Meanwhile, that woman was blessed with a beautiful, baby. She took another step closer as I took a step backward. The sirens are now right in front of the house, sending red and blue flashes through the windows. An intercom buzzed with orders for my parents to step out of the house

with her hands up. We found you, just a baby, crying in the backseat of a freezing car with a sword diaper. Her expression softened as a rise changed from anger to sadness. The woman who gave birth to you was passed out in the front with a goddamn needle

sticking out of her arm. She took a deep breath and grabbed my hand with hers. So yeah, we did what we had to do to save you. We gave you a far better life than you ever would have had if we left you there. We've always loved you, as if you were our own. Tears now streamed out both of our faces, as a boom where the front door being kicked down cracked through the house, signaling the entrance to the police.

As I fell to the ground sobbing, my mother stood up and looked at me with the arguable love, that she felt for me. Never forget who your real mother is. You are my son and I love you, Max. Those were the last words she ever said to me.

As the police headed up the stairs, she charged them with a revolver still in her hand. The gunshots rang through the house followed by the thought of a body hitting the ground. Detective Carter found me in my mother's room, sobbing and hyperventilating again.

She grabbed me in a round. and embraced me in a way that was both sympathetic and somehow understanding. With surprising strength, she picked me up in her arms, carrying my one sixty-pound self out of the house after covering my head with a jacket. Detective Carter, whose first name is Michelle, took me to the hospital and stayed by my side through the night and well into the next morning.

My father was arrested not too long after. I've asked to speak with him, but so far his lawyer won't allow it. They did allow me to go to my mother's funeral though. Thankfully, Michelle accompanied me. None of the people that I once thought were my family members so much as looked my way. I realised that day

that I was now alone, without family. At the end of the funeral, Michelle handed me a beautiful bouquet of royal blue roses. She gave me an understanding nod to my husband. unspoken emotions. As I placed the flowers in the casket, I whispered, I love you too, Mom.