CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The Society of Broken Necks" Creepypasta

Episode Date: November 29, 2024

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saturdead:   / repost_the_society_of_broken_necks  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 was once in a terrible accident. I was on my way home from work, but the elevators were out of service. I had to take six flights of stairs after a 12-hour shift. I wasn't paying attention. I had a terrible fall, and when I opened my eyes, I couldn't move. I could barely breathe, and I could see my hand twitch in the corner of my eye. It took me a moment to realize that hand was. wasn't mine. I couldn't feel my fingers. In a couple of seconds, I'd gone from on my way home

to barely alive. I watched my breath condense against the stone tiles. I could feel anything but a dull pain radiating down my spine. The more I thought about it, the more my pulse hammered, and the more light-headed I felt. I was bleeding, but I couldn't see or feel from where. I couldn't call out for help. It was as if one of my lungs was lagging. I didn't know where one breath started and another ended. Luckily, my co-worker, Andrew, was working late. He found me and stayed with me until the EMTs arrived.

From that point on, I barely remember anything. Apparently, I was alone on that floor for about 20 minutes. I was lucky to be alive. It wasn't a full on broken neck, but a severe fracture. I had to go through countless surgeries. Thank God it happened on company property and that I was fully insured. Not only did I get the best possible treatment money could pay for, but they also authorized any additional payments for pretty much whatever my doctor would recommend.

But despite that, I was a wreck. Looking back at that time, I was barely alive. I was just waiting for life to come back. But it never did. I improved, but they could tell early on that I was suffering from nerve root damage. It left me partially paralyzed in my right leg. There were a couple of other issues that would flare up from time to time, but nothing life-threatening. Just little things, like a random pain in my ring finger.

or hearing a snapping noise when I yawned. But coming to the realization that I wasn't going to make a full recovery, it was devastating. It felt like my best days were behind me, and every reassuring word was like a sarcastic jab. Over time, I got back on my feet. I went from a wheelchair to crutches to a cane over the course of a year and a half. But no matter what I used, the pain was always there, that dull, throming pain radiating throughout my body. And every now and then, I get a shortness of breath when standing up,

bringing me right back to that memory of my face, pressing against that door, watching my shallow breaths condense on the stone tiles. While I tried to get back to work and resign myself to a new normality, there was always that nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I was living a lesser life. So, while I kept up appearances, I was resenting what I'd become. So, during lunch breaks and countless late nights, I found myself wading through medical articles, expert opinions, and journals detailing experimental treatments.

Nothing was decisive, though no secret tricks. It didn't matter if I had a hundred bucks to spend or a hundred million. There simply was no way to magically get better. So, I looked further. Alternative medicine, obscure YouTube videos, everything from nutritional supplements to faith healing. But it was all noise. Nothing was pointing me to a solution.

After months of obsessive searching and consultation, all I got was recommendations for pain medication. There was nothing else. Then came a late September night which set me on a new path. I was browsing the blog of a woman who'd gone through a similar experience as me and she was documenting many struggles she faced along the way. I spent a couple of hours reading her thoughts and watching a couple of shorts when I noticed something in one of a comment sections.

There were rarely any comments at all, but this one stood out. just said, S-brown. That could mean a thousand things. But to me, it sounded like medication. I'd heard them all at that point. I had a whiteboard with the top 250 list of various quack solutions I'd heard, and this one wasn't on there. While I was skeptical, it was still another lead.

There were no responses referencing this. There were no video replies. and the account had no other comments. All I had to go off was Esperon and the nickname of the poster, Yuvia. It's Spanish for rain. I figured it might be a kind of supplement or off the book's medication.

So I followed the trail. I searched for all kinds of combinations of rain, broken neck, Esprone, and a bunch of other topics. It took me days, but one combination of, of words sent me down a rabbit hole that pointed me at a lead. It was one of those sites where you could secretly rate your workplace. A couple of disgruntled workers had rated an employer of theirs particularly low. There were no mentions of

Esperon, but I think the algorithm latched onto it for some reason. They wrote as such. My supervisor has been an absolute cow since her accident, constant unpaid over time, threats in accusations. She's taking it out on everyone. I don't care if she's in a wheelchair. She's single-handedly tanking this department. Then on the bottom of the review, an addendum added about two months after the initial posting. Edit, out of the wheelchair and still a cow, don't work here. It didn't take me long to look that company up and a name immediately popped out. Rain Calloway. It was a long but it sounded like this person had overcome a grievous injury. Maybe there was something there.

She worked at an investment company with a local office. I could drop by at lunch and hope for the best. I went to see rain the next day. While the lead was tenuous at best, I felt like I had to try. When I got there, I saw a couple of people leaving the building, all dressed in fancy black and white clothing with monoclose. at ties. There were a handful of women among them, one of which was given a bit of a wide birth. She was in her early 50s and was the only one with a large scarf. Going for a hell

Mary, I approached her. Excuse me, I said, are you rain? She looked up at me. She had dark blue eyes, the same color as a sunflower brooch on a scarf. She raised an eyebrow, slowing down. What of it? She asked. I have a question about a comment you made. She rolled her eyes and turned her back on me. It said something like Esperon, I continued.

I don't know what it means, but I get the feeling you could help me. She froze. Her colleagues waited for her, but she waved them off. She approached me, looking me up and down with a stiff neck. How bad is it? she asked. Pretty bad. Bad enough to get in trouble for it? If I can get rid of it, yeah.

You can, she nodded. Yeah, you can get rid of it. She invited me out to lunch, asking me a couple of personal questions. I told her about my accident and the lingering issues I had. She, in turn, talked about getting hit by a car. She had been paralyzed from the waist down for two years, but obviously she wasn't paralyzed anymore. I looked up from my salad. Rain had this intense stare like she was weighing my soul.

So, what's the secret? I asked. There's a guy, she explained, but it's going to cost you. I got some money put away, I sighed. Just give me the number. Not that kind of cost, she said, shaking ahead. But we can figure it out. We exchanged contact information. As I left, the pain in my leg was worse than ever.

The prospect of getting rid of that pain kind of emphasized it. You can't stop poking at it once you know it's there. At night, as I went to bed, I got a text message. A time and a place. no details. Locking it up online, it seemed to be a hotel. But I got no room number, no directions, nothing. The next day, I went straight from work to that hotel.

I dressed up in a business casual blazer and hoped they wouldn't stare too long at the cane. Then again, if these people worked with those who'd been in accidents, chances were they wouldn't even notice the cane. But why the secrecy? I got to the hotel at about 6pm. A pretty fancy place, at least four stars. There was a small fountain in the lobby with black marble floor. It smelled of flowers and chemicals. As soon as I entered the lobby, there was a man by the elevators waving me over.

This way, sir. You pressed the button for the 12th floor for me. but didn't say anything. It was as if I was supposed to know what to do already. I stepped into the back of the elevator, try my best to stay calm. A hundred thoughts ran through my head as music played. I had no idea what to expect, but I sure as hell didn't expect what I got. The doors opened to a scene straight out of a movie.

Wide open double doors, guarded by burly men with visible. gun holsters. I could smell cigar smoke all the way out in the hallway. There was music playing from one of the rooms further in as these gorgeous marble-sculpted people wandered back and forth, serving hors d'oeuvres from silver platters. I got a lot of curious eyes on me, but they can't as soon as they noticed the cane. Stepping forward, one of the doorman stopped me. I thought he was going to check my identification or ask me to leave, but instead his features softened. You need any help, sir. No, uh, no, I'm good, I said.

Thanks. Enjoy your stay. There are about 25 guests in total, catered to by a staff of about a dozen. It was hard to get a good read on the other attendants, both because of the dim lighting and cigar smoke, but also because a lot of them seemed busy. Some were stuck looking through their phones, while the others were having intimate conversations with one another and the servants. You lost there, boy, oh.

I turned around to see a man that can only be described as a living scarecrow. At least six foot seven, pale, with white hair combed back and gelled. intense blue eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. I think you're looking for the man in the inner sanctum, he continued. Just follow the crutches. The crutches? Can't miss him. And with that, he left.

Just like he said, there were crutches covering the western wall, some shorts, some longs, some old. There was a wooden one that looked like it was about to fall apart. There were a couple of display cases lining the wall, showing off various strange items. The first one that caught my eye was half a human skull dipped in silver. There was a plaque next to it. The Society of Broken Necks. That was it. Esperon.

It was a shortened code for whatever this group was, and the half-school was an icon. But what the hell had I gotten myself for. into. Was it a cult? I was browsing the many strange items displayed, trying to figure out what kind of people I was dealing with. For example, there was a film reel for something called The End of Eternity with a frame certificate of authenticity from director Roy Hampton. I was reading through the fine print and someone tapped my shoulder. Rain. He got a copy from congregation at the 12th Sky Assembly, she said. Insane people, but they got all kinds of stuff. Is that any good? I haven't seen it, she smiled. I don't think you're meant to. Then why have it?

Because others don't. It was time to meet the man of the hour. I never got to know his full or real name, but they called him Garland. First time I saw him, he was sitting in what I can only describe as a leather throne. He kept his hands in two bowls of magenta-coloured sludge, like a porridge. It smelled of chlorine and artificial flowers. Garland was the kind of person where you can tell how old they are. He had the face and hair of a teenager, but the grey in his beard stubble suggested he was older than he appeared. I couldn't get a good look at him, though.

I could barely see anything through the dark and the smoke. Rain went ahead, clearing the way for me. Approaching him, she turned to introduce me. I brought you a special friend, she said, pointing at me. I can see that, Garland smiled. Nice cane. He leaned back in his seat, keeping his hands soaked. He was very deliberate with his movements, like he explored every single muscle.

Without breaking eye contact, he nodded at me. I can help you with that. The rest of that night, I was one of the in-crowd. I literally just had to hold out a hand to get a drink. Turns out, Garland co-owned the place. He was a silent partner to a variety of hotels, motels, hostels, and event-planning services. They were currently working with a partner up north, aiming to acquire some cheap new locations in Alaska and Northern Canada. I didn't like the way he said it though. It kind of sounded

like there was someone doing something they shouldn't. At some point, in the middle of the night, I had a sit down with rain. She was a bit tipsy, so she took the time to explain her relation to Garland. I was paralysed. She said, she was paralysed. She said, said, waist down, completely paralysed. And it got better. Better? She laughed. Better than I've ever been.

One session with Garland, and that's that. One session? One session. She smiled as we clinked our glasses. I could do one session. I'd pay a lot for that. I stayed there until early morning, just about an hour before the break.

break of dawn. As I stumbled out, one of the doorman called me a cab and put a card in my wallet. A time and a place. I could barely wait. While I didn't trust this man, the resort spoke for themselves. The thought of going back to normal ached me even worse than the dull pain in my leg. The day before the meeting, I was proofreading an addendum to a contract. I'd been working on that thing all day, and I wasn't even trying to seem interested. It was boilerplate stuff, and I considered just approving it as is without any clarification. I could barely pay attention anyway. Still, I soldiered on. I was on the last page when I got an email from a throwaway account, The initial line read,

Our dearest broken neck friend. It was Garland and his people, contacting me ahead of my scheduled appointment. Instead of payment for his services, he asked for some information. It wasn't anything big, just a copy of the document I was working on. How he knew what I did for a living was, disconcerting at best. There was no way. While it wasn't important in the big scale of things, it was technically a company secret. Still, I couldn't think of a way sharing that document would be inherently bad.

It really was just the technicality. I wasn't thinking of anything but myself, I guess. I wanted to feel normal and having that within my grasp was too enticing. I gone too far and seen what kind of people they were. Say what you will about Garland and his lifestyle. There was something more to it, something mystical. I sent the document and covered my tracks. Looking back at it, it was dumb, I know.

I'm sure you've done your fair share of stupid things behind closed doors as well. I went to see Garland at the hotel the next day. There was a small room hidden way in the spa behind an unmarked door. It was easy enough to spot. Rain was waiting for me. You ready? She asked, not looking up from the floor. Yeah, I said.

What are you doing here? I'm your sponsor, she explained. I'm responsible. She nodded at me and tapped on the door. It swung open. It was a plain white room with a single comfortable chair. It had the same chlorine smell that I'd noticed the last time I met Garland, the stuff he rubbed on his hands. Rain motioned at me to sit down.

So I did. I think I must have dozed off. At some point, Garland was just there. I hadn't heard him enter the room, and he hadn't been there when I first arrived. And yet, there he was. Rain welcomed him. Seconds later, a cold pair of hands brusely. the way my hair and another gently covered my eyes.

Try to relax, Garland said. This won't take a minute. And it really didn't. It's hard to explain the sensation. It felt like sinking into a warm bath after a long day. Like I'd had a full night's sleep after a big dinner. My joints relaxed and all the pain just melted away. as the pain in my leg evaporated.

I almost cried. There was a tap on my shoulder. And when I opened my eyes, it was just me. And I felt fine. The next few days were amazing. I could literally dance all the way to work if I wanted to. I slept better.

Food tasted better. My hair felt thicker, and my skin got a bit of a sheen. everything was just better the only thing I noticed was that the moss and my leg was still a bit off it was as if the damage was still there but hidden away

I was so thankful I would have done anything if Garland came asking and it didn't take too long before he did another email dropped this time asking for a whole slew of documents on our next project secret stuff, the kind you can go to jail for talking about.

And while I was thankful, I had no intention of incriminating myself. Garland didn't like that. Not one bit. I got one last message from an automated email address. I can take it all away, it read. You got ten minutes. I didn't know what to believe. But given how suddenly I gotten rid of that pain, it wouldn't surprise me if it was just as simple to return it.

At that point, I still thought it was some kind of alternative medicine kind of deal. Maybe that was the scam, having to go back for refills. Either way, I wasn't about to let it all go to waste. It was just words on paper. It couldn't hurt me. Besides, there were plenty of people at that party who'd probably clue. with Garland for a long time, and they seemed fine. So I justified it over and over, trying to make it seem like a good idea.

So yeah, I sent him whatever he wanted. Seconds later, I got invited back to the hotel. And that's sort of how it went for some time. Garland would check on me, and I'd send him copies. He'd invite me over to the hotel for pretty much whatever I wanted. And yeah, I knew it was bad. But I felt amazing. It was impossible to feel bad about my choices

when everything in my body was screaming at me that this was the right thing to do. I got to sit in on all kinds of meetings between Carland and some of the other broken necks. They were talking about renting out a hotel for something they called the Blue Hill tribe meeting. It sounded like an event just like any other. But something about the way they talked about it made it sound shady as hell.

There was always someone strange at the door, people wanting to hire a stepminder, a guy who collected rare organs, a group of people who talked about getting backroom access to a hotel. I'm not sure why, but it sounded like they were sneaking into rooms. These were shady people. and I was okay with it. It was like a drug.

I couldn't stop myself. It felt like my body was in better condition than it had ever been. And yet, I'd slip up every now and then. My leg wasn't really okay. It just kind of felt like it was. I'd seen this in the other people too. Rain, for example. As soon as she took a scarf off, her head would bob back and forth.

like the muscles weren't supporting her. Other people in the society had a variety of issues, but Garland had helped them forget it. One guy had an inverted knee like an ostrich. There was a woman who had an arm she could just twist and turn any way she wanted. Hell, even the doorman seemed to have issues. I think they had actually broken necks. The thought hit me that some of these people might actually die

if it wasn't for Garland and his treatment. Maybe they really didn't have a choice but to serve. I couldn't help but to notice some cracks in the veneer. It started with Rain. She was having trouble giving Garland something he demanded once and he wasn't happy about it. He invited me over to the side of his throne in the middle of a society gathering

and raised his hand out of the bowl. Pointing at Rain, his hand seemed to mummer. if I. Seconds later, Rain's head swung back and forth like a bobblehead, as whatever strength she'd had in her neck waned. She begged and pleaded, and then collapsed to the floor. She swore she'd get it done, whatever he wanted. Rain lay in the floor like a broken doll, barely able to move her eyes and arms.

She had trouble breathing. I wanted to go up and help, but I couldn't. The entire room was acting like nothing was happening. When Garland was satisfied with her promises, he raised his other hand at her. His hand mummified, and Rain's legs started moving again. I offered her help, but she got up on her own. As she stormed off, Garland waved me over. You keep doing what you do, he smiled.

And that won't be you. This was the status quo for months. At least once a week, I'd go see Garland. He got me a new car, he paid for an apartment, and whenever I'd ran into a problem, he'd fix it. Be it economical, physical, whatever. He had a guy for everything. stocks and investments. He had a sure thing. Private jet to Italy. On the ground in six hours flat, no questions asked. But I saw some nasty stuff. People losing control of their bodies falling to

the floor screaming. Entire groups of people begging at Garland's feet. He'd hand out gifts and punishments like it was nothing seemingly at random. But to me, I mean, I was doing okay. There'd be no repercussions. I was fine, but that changed. My company was running into issues where competing firms were beating us to new contracts. We were facing contract breaches and a loss of revenue. Our stock prices were tanking and someone was buying out minor share investors.

All of a sudden, we were getting uncomfortable questions. people being called in for meetings, IT was checking her emails. Sure I'd covered my tracks, but I was getting nervous. And in the middle of all this, Garland wanted more. He didn't care if I got caught or not. He wanted his, and nothing I said would get in the way. But I literally couldn't get his documents anymore. It was a red alert.

I was sweating bullets. I sent back a message telling him I couldn't get it. I got the same standard message as always. I can take it all away. You got ten minutes. I tried to explain. I couldn't get to it. I checked if I could log in to an alternate account

and access the folders anonymously. But there was no way. Passwords were changed. There were new logs procedures to record our activity. It was over. I couldn't do it. I just stared at my phone as ten minutes passed. But there was no message.

Nothing. I looked at my leg, expecting it to ache. With the pain I hadn't felt for so long come back, what was going to happen to me? I figured I had two choices. I could try get to Garland's and plead my case or hurried back home and tried to cover my tracks. I was out in the parking lot in about two minutes.

Suddenly, I was getting calls from random numbers, texts from unknown people. My landlord was texting me something about my lease being invalid. I couldn't even get my car to start. Garland had people who could show, shut it off remotely. And I think he used it. I got in a cab feeling my phone buzz with messages and calls.

It was all falling apart. I'd failed Garland, and he was pulling the rug out. I had some incriminating stuff on my own computer that I had to clear. But that was it. Just one little car ride, and that'd be that. About halfway to my place, the taxi stopped. He just pulled over by the side of the highway. The driver leaned back.

I'm on break, he said. Supervisor said I'm taking a break. You can't just... I got to get home. I'm on break. But I got a... On break. Didn't matter what I said.

I was stranded. I got out. And the moment my feet touched the ashore. He sped off. I was standing by the side of the highway screaming at him to come back. It was already dark out and all I saw were anonymous cars speeding past at 75 miles per hour. I could barely navigate anything on my phone. I kept getting pop-ups. They had devolved from messages to constant spam.

My internet connection was down too. Garland was pulling out all the stuff. stops to show his disapproval. I managed to get to a diner further down the road, old-timey place, meant for about 12 guests at most. There were a handful of other people there, mostly truckers. They sort of looked like a refurbished bus with a kitchen welded on. I hurried inside, asking if I could borrow a phone and call a cab. The two other guests followed me with their eyes, unsure what to make.

of me. The owner didn't seem to mind. She could tell I was having a rough day. She picked up a phone and dialed a number. I barely got time to sit down before I saw her expression change. Someone was calling her. I was probably being tracked. She turned to me, looking through a hole in the kitchen door. She shook ahead and told me she was sorry. Moments later, she was out of the door, and the lights went out. Three men entered the diner. The two truckers looked at them, then me, and promptly left. It had barely been a couple of minutes, and sure I was stronger and healthier than ever,

but I couldn't take on three people. As the front door closed, I heard the click of a telescope baton unfolding. For a moment, it was all quiet. I tried to make my case slowly. I couldn't get to it, I said. I'm sorry. Not good enough. One of them approached me, holding the baton toward me, like a pointing stick.

It poked against my chest. I could feel my heart beating through my clothes as if trying to push it away. You want back in? You're going to have good. to do better. I'm out, I said. I can't. I'm out.

You sure about that? I don't want to be a problem. The three men looked at one another. Getting a better view of them, I could see these were men deep in Garland's pockets. One had a neck like a bobblehead, similar to rain. Another had these strange ticks from his arm, all the way up to his eye.

Some kind of nerve damage. And the third, the guy with a baton. His eyes were pale white, like he was supposed to be blind, but he clearly wasn't. He's going to ruin your life, the blind man said. Ain't no question about it. He already has. The three of them gave each other a curious look, and I saw an opportunity. Their guard was down, and I had a clear shot to the front door.

Neither of them had locked it. I had to go for it. I burst into a sprint, barely making it past the first two and pushing aside the third. I flew through the door, stumbling out into the parking lot gravel. There was a single light post overhead, casting the parking lot in long shadows. Another 12 or so people waited for me outside, some with crooked legs and backs, One woman with no lips, a man with an open gunshot wound to the neck. These weren't the people you'd see at the parties.

These were the secret backbone that kept Garland and his group floating. These were the real broken necks, the people who brought in the money. One more ghoulish than the next, they circled around me with knives and guns. One guy was carrying a car battery and cables tossed over his shoulder. Bad move, said the blind man. Real bad move. I tried to run for it, but it was too late. I got grabbed, pushed back, and the circle tightened.

Someone had a bad lung, making their laugh sound like a stalling engine. A baton strike to the back of my leg put me on the ground. It didn't matter what I said or what I promised. They weren't having it. These were people that, without Garland and his touch, they'd be dead or worse. I was just the sellout with a bum leg. They'd done far worse to far better people. And they were going to do something far worse than just mess up my leg.

I'm not going to go into detail on the 20-minute abuse I lived through. The cuts, the beatings, the gasoline waterboarding, all from a crowd of broken broken. bodies, crooked smiles and heaving laughter. I remember a darkness descending on me as my head desperately tried to carry blood back to my brain. I was dipping in and out of consciousness, waning back and forth between begging for it to end and hoping I could pull through, that some miracle would show itself. Instead, I heard Garland.

As the beating stopped, his voice boiled its way into my blood. stained here. I could fix you, you know, he said. If I did, I could put you right back here. That's a strong incentive. He stepped back. I heard the crowd compose itself, ready for anything. But what's the point? He sighed. You're not trustworthy. You're nothing. He brushed some hair aside. and with that he left and through all the burning wounds and scathing clothes I felt something in my leg that everlasting dull throbbing nerve damage

true to his word I was right back to where I started one of the truckers who'd been at the diner had called the cops but they conveniently only showed up after the beating was over. And from what little I heard through my swollen ears, they weren't really there to check on me. They were there from an anonymous tip, pointing me out as an insider in breach of contract. I was still in the hospital when I got the news.

I lost everything. My job, my apartment, my car, my phone, my savings. Hell, even my freedom. Someone had served the prosecutor a case on a silver platter. Four years was the best deal I could get nowadays. That life is behind me. It feels like yesterday and the scars are still there. I know I messed up.

I know a lot of this was my own doing and I accept that. I'm being honest. I thought I could get away with it. When you're in that cloud, in that inner circle, it all just feels right, not just physically, but socially. I've seen rain a couple of times. She's back in her wheelchair. I don't think Garland appreciated her role as my sponsor, but she's not out of his good graces yet. She still has a job, and she refuses to talk to me.

I think Garland is keeping her on a short leash, and if she does well, she might have a way back in, but me. I mean, I'm out. I don't know what the society does nowadays, and I'm not sure I want to. I don't want anything to do with that part of the world anymore. I guess I should be thankful that they didn't take me out completely. Maybe I'm worth more. As an example.