CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The Stick Man" Creepypasta

Episode Date: September 12, 2020

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by PhantomPen: 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...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-

This is a story from when I was about 10 years old, and a recent experience has moved me to share this. As I'm well into my 30s now, part of this story may not be especially clear, rambling, and it may sound a bit dramatic, but if I'm able to convey even a hundredth of what I felt when these events took place, I trust you'll forgive me. Throughout my childhood, I moved roughly every two years to various military bases in the US as my father was active duty. When I was about nine, we moved to a base relatively far out west, five miles from a Native American reservation. I went to school off base, and I would say maybe a third of the school was Native American to some degree. One way or another, I cannot say I remember how, I ended up becoming best friends with a native classmate named John. John lived in the housing communities outside base with his father, but his grandfather lived on the reservation nearby, and he would often spend the afternoons there after school while his father worked.

Once I turned 10, my own family allowed me a degree of relative freedom. My father had impressed upon me that once I was in double-digit age, I had adult responsibilities, such as being allowed to take care of my younger sister alone, but also being allowed to play off on my own or sleep over at friends' houses. And so, I began to take the bus home with John some days, and his father would take me home in the evening. Many of these days ended up being at his grandfather's house on the reservation. I honestly never saw much of the reservation, as John's grandfather lived in a house often his own ways into the woods.

But, from what I did see, things were largely undisturbed. To a child that loved building forts and climbing things, the woods were amazing. John and I would often spend the entire time outside digging child-sized foxholes with his grandfather's There's myriad of tools or making little stick-by-stick progress on what we envisioned would one day be a sort of treehouse mansion. This continued on into the summer and eventually when the new school year came the afternoon routine continued. This is where the story begins in earnest and a fall afternoon when John and I had found a freshly dead bird. I think it must have been a hawk, though I don't truly remember what it looked like, only that to the day, 10-year-old me, it was huge.

It seemed like it had just fallen out of the sky, or even just been placed on the ground. It wasn't broken or bloody, and if its eyes had been closed, we likely would have assumed it was sleeping. We prodded it with sticks, speculated how it could have died, and I think talked about burying it. But before we actually did anything, John found another dead bird. I remember it was small. as were all the ones we found after that.

Sparrows or small songbirds. We found close to maybe ten, or was spread out a ways away, under trees or just on the ground, undisturbed, but definitely dead. I recall we argued over if they got sick and died, and if we could get the sickness if we touched them. I should also note that while finding all these dead birds

was certainly odd, we weren't really afraid or on guard, and we kept going through the woods looking for more of them, or whatever it killed them. Eventually, we split up. I don't think we really went that far from each other, and I know I was still relatively close to John's grandfather's house when I saw it. It was a large deer, sort of picking bark off a tree with its teeth.

That's how it looked to me at first. This bit is pretty hard to describe. I saw a deer. I saw it picking bark of the tree with his teeth, bit by bit. But I knew it was not a deer. I cannot say how, but I simply knew it wasn't. It was something else, but understand when I say this, it wasn't something dressed as a deer

or some animal that looked like a deer from an angle or in a bad light. I was seeing something picking the bark of the tree. and my mind put the image of a deer there instead of whatever it actually was. That is the best way I can describe it. I stood there, confused, watching it, staring at it as if trying to bring it into focus. I would turn my head and look at it again, and it was like a magic pop-out picture or optical illusion I couldn't stop seeing. I think this went on for maybe a minute or two, and, I just tried looking at it without blinking.

I know it stopped picking at the bark, and I got the impression it was moving. But the deer stayed still, and, for a very brief moment, I didn't see the deer as clearly. I suppose the best I could describe it would be like seeing a show or film, and one frame or image out of 50 or so

was completely different. I still don't clearly know what it was, but some deep part of my being Some locked-up, primordial part of my brain, screamed that I should not have seen it. My blood had gone completely cold. I was suddenly extremely scared without knowing why. It was like some ingrained fear, like that of spiders or heights, but dialed to eleven. I knew whatever it was, it was bigger than a deer, and it had indeed been moving.

I just turned and ran. To this day, I doubt I've ever run as fast as I did then. I flew through the woods, not thinking about John, going straight back to the house as fast as I could. John had seen me, or maybe he'd been going back to the house by chance, but I rushed into the house, wide-eyed, panting and tracking in mud. He came right in after me, asking me if I was okay. I remember not saying anything, not knowing what to say.

and John's grandfather either heard us or sensed something was amiss and came and paused when he saw me. He asked me the same question, if I was okay, and this time I shook my head no. He asked me what happened, and I told him I'd seen a deer. Even as I said it, it felt like a stupid thing to say, but I didn't honestly know where to begin. I felt tears welling up in my eyes from fear. and embarrassment, and John's grandfather knelt down and asked me if I was sure it was a deer. I don't know why he asked me that, but I violently shook my head no, tears still in my eyes. His grandfather didn't ask me anything else.

He simply told us to stay inside. From that point on, it's a bit of a blur for a while. I know he went into the basement of the small house where the TV was, and John had looked worried, and I was thankful he hadn't laughed or made fun of me for being scared of a deer. I knew it was something he would do, but I was still grateful to have him as a friend during that moment. He asked me if the deer had attacked me or something, and through our short back and forth, I came to understand that deer weren't actually common where we were. I had often seen them at other places I'd lived, and while John certainly knew what a deer was,

and what it looked like, he had never seen one on the reservation. or around his home. I remember his grandfather bringing in wind chimes and small potted plants from outside, as that it struck me as odd. But nothing else really happened. Eventually John's father came to get us, and I remember his grandfather telling him we all had to stay the night, and they talked at length in some other language,

which I presumed may have been some Native American language, but it was nothing I recognized or remembered, being ten at the time. I remember John's father agreeing we should spend the night quite easily and how we were going to wait and call my parents after dinner. This was before cell phones. I was actually quite excited for his sleepover, until at some point John mentioned to his grandfather all the dead birds we had found earlier.

He simply nodded and said something to John's father, who began to actually look worried. It was at this point I began to grow worried too. Up until that point I hadn't thought of the deer and the birds has connected my mind simply hadn't put them together but when it then dawned on me

that the deer thing had killed the birds I started to feel the same fear from when I'd seen it I didn't think it had chased after me but John's father was worried and the sleepover was likely tied to it too I wondered if it was dangerous

for us to go outside John's father had gotten here fine and it was still pretty light outside for dusk. I think I'd gone to the window to look outside, to see John's father's car, and then, I'm not really sure. Whatever I did, when, and how I left the house, was gone from my memory. I was simply outside. I was sure I had walked there on my own. I hadn't felt a strong desire to go.

I wasn't looking for anything or lord there. I simply went outside, and when I was myself again, so to speak, I was outside, and I saw it. It wasn't a deer this time. It was a tree, and I knew it right away. Up until this point, as I write this, I remember everything that I've recounted with relative certainty, but from that moment, my memories are etched into diamond in my brain. I would likely remember this feeling until the day I die, no matter how old I grow. What I saw as the tree gave way was something slender but huge.

It was hunched over, and I know if it had stood, if it could stand, it would have been much taller than a man. It seemed uneven and dark, and though I couldn't look away, I can recall it clearly in my mind. I still don't know exactly what it looked like, or if it had a head, or eyes, or hands, etc. My mind fought hard to keep it as a tree while I couldn't look away from it, and while I was scared before I saw it, what I felt then was true terror. To clarify, you can feel fear.

You can justify it, battle it, almost examine it within yourself when presented with its source. But not terror. Terror isn't felt. It overcomes you. It is debilitating, mind-numbing, far beyond the simple fear of death. Any other thought or feeling, even the senses, are like corks, faintly bobbing in the raging waves of the storm that is terror. To this day, I've never been a stone-cold afraid of anything in my life as when I was in that moment. It had seen me.

It didn't look away at me per se It didn't turn or move But I felt his attention shift to me It was like being in a huge spotlight And then suddenly have it focused to a narrow beam Directly on you I was so numb I hadn't noticed I was crying And once I did

I tried hard not to make any noise Not to breathe I closed my eyes and was looking downwards at the ground I remember my tears falling left to right. It was still focused on me, so overwhelming and stifling. I know it might sound silly, but this soul experience had actually given rise to my acceptance of religion some years later. If this thing was a demon, then hell didn't need fire and flames. This being was a thing that shouldn't exist.

I didn't realize it as I was doing it, but I was about to start walking toward the things. until I heard a shrill whistle from behind me, and on reflex I pivoted, foot in the air, mid-step, and saw John's grandfather's arm beckoning me from the doorway of the house. His whole body was behind the solid white door, just his arm sticking out,

beckoning me over and over. I was so stunned and in shock, I simply walked towards it, numbly shuffling, eyes focused on the motion of his hand. I no longer felt the thing's attention on me, and some part of me was sure that I was already dead. My legs carried me to the door, and John's grandfather shut the door behind me. He had been holding a shotgun.

John's father knelt with me and gave me a hand towel from the kitchen, as I began sobbing in earnest, the terror relenting and the shock of being alive taking its place. John was nearby and looked as concerned as his father and grandfather, though I didn't know if he actually knew what was going on. When I calmed down, we were all sitting at the small table in the kitchen. I noticed all the blinds and curtains had been closed. And though I didn't ask anything, when I looked at John's grandfather, my question must have been plain on my face.

He glanced at the shaded window, then turned to me and simply said, Stick man, and raised his arms and growled to him. to imitate a monster. I didn't ask anything else that night, nor did John, and we all had a quiet dinner, and eventually we went down to the basement and set up the camping carts

John and I had used in previous sleepovers. Eventually, John's grandfather came down and played cards with us on the floor. He taught us how to play poker, and we gambled with a big bag of M&Ms he brought out from somewhere, divvying them out to us and laughing. At some point,

he produced a huge, 10-gallon cowboy hat and played the role of the spirited poker dealer, helping us win by asking, Are you sure? And keeping the M&Ms flowing. Looking back on it now, I know he was trying to cheer us up, and I'm extremely thankful to him for that, on top of possibly saving my life. John and I never really spoke about this stickman, until one point, some weeks later, when we were outside in the driveway to his grandfather's house.

We played much closer to the house for a while And I had gone quiet And stared at the spot where I had been frozen in terror Where I had to turn around And John asked me a question Why do you think it let you go? He said The question struck me

Until then I hadn't been sure John Was even aware of this stick man But I answered him honestly I don't think it meant to which was true I didn't think it was actually trying to kill me trying wouldn't have factored in

I simply would have died I don't know how I knew but I was certain if it had wanted me dead I would have been ended such as my encounter with a stick man or whatever its other names may be I'm glad to have been able to write it down

and I hope that this will serve as a well-warned to my fellow outdoorsman. Despite my best efforts, I do not think written word will ever do the feelings I went through justice. And lastly, partly for my own sake,

if you do see something strange, or something not quite what it should be when you're out in the wilderness, please get away, leave immediately. Please don't let your final thoughts be spent, realizing, I was telling the truth.