CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The Stragview Prison Curse" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 19, 2020

PLEASE CHECK OUT THE AUTHOR'S LATEST BOOK► https://www.breakingrulespublishing.c...MORE BOOKS HERE► https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...CREEPYPASTA STORY (Original title: "Howard's Curse")►by Erutious: 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►Omega Black: https://www.instagram.com/p/B-mLQi2lYXn/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'm just to have Amsterdam, eh? Why? I've been forgotten how a toopriked. Doy! Toy! Tov! With Eurocity direct, though? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in 2-hour.

Now, from 19 euro in place of 25. Book you tickets on NMBS International.com. The festival season is aang broken, and that bettemented modder. And so, came Kim to Amazon.com. On the way, on a waterdicted tent, a comfortable luggette bed. Oh, so, knus. And Lupeartprint regalearze. Miao.

Now, Kim's not like that dancing modder man that... Oh,

wait just even, have he now only modder on? Oh yeah, only mudder. Drogoblev?

Goar for. Find what you need to know what you need on Amazon.com. com. They tell you not to get

too friendly with the inmates at the academy. They tell you again during orientation. Statistically, 45% of correctional officers

will have an unwise encounter with an inmate. What this translates to is anyone's guess, but in my case, it was a little worse than most. I'm sitting behind bars now, trapped in the very prison I once worked at, and all because I talked a little too much with an inmate. All because I talked too much with Jameson Howard.

Morning, Sarge. That was inmate Howard's usual greeting. He had been in the maximum insecurity party, the confinement for as long as I could remember. He had been sentenced to life in prison for a string of murders he'd committed against women. He had gotten himself in a cell in maximum security because he had killed his last three roommates. Now he was all alone, got his meals in a styrofoam tray, and only got recreation once a week and only under the closest of scrutiny.

If ever there was a bad guy in prison, this was him. That being said, I'd never had to have. had any trouble out of him. He was always polite. He never sat at the door and ogled nurses when they came to pass meds, never kicked the door or through his waist at us, and was generally well-behaved as far as inmates went. He read a lot, never really talked to anyone, and mostly kept to himself. He didn't even really speak to all the COs except for me. I was the only one that had more to say to him than, shut up. His conversation started off light. How is this football team or that football team doing as I passed out mail?

What sorts of movies were in the theatres while I handed out lunches? How was I, or the health of my family, while I pushed around the laundry cart? Standard stuff, conversation starters, pretty typical of inmates who were locked in their cells 23 hours a day. I kept my responses casual at first, one or two word answers. But, after a while, you start getting used to people. Inmates are criminals. They're bad guys.

But after a while, you see them as often as you see your friends. I was never friends with them. That's never a good idea. But you become relaxed and you let your guard down. You start to discuss last night's football game with them. You talk about how the new Judge Dread movies are so much better than the old ones. You ask them about their families and you tell them a little about yours. You start to look at them.

like animals in the zoo. The animals are behind bars and thus no threat to you. You get relaxed, you get comfortable, looking and stepping a little closer to the bars than you usually would. You forget that the animals still have claws and horns and teeth. You forget that the animals are still animals. I was sitting in his cell one afternoon, sorting mail and passing a word when he suddenly told me something that made me look up from the mail stack.

I had gotten comfortable talking with him and made a habit of it almost every afternoon. I never spent long out there, just a few minutes of conversation, and we usually talked about the sort of things he could learn about if he took the time. We had just finished talking about the Cowboys, a team we both liked, and their miserable loss last weekend, when he suddenly asked me if I believed in God. I rolled my eyes, expecting a jailhouse sermon. My God, Howard, don't tell me you found Jesus in this hellish place. Nope, not sure he even exists.

Don't know how he could if he'd give a man like me this condition. Your condition came from murdering all those women, Howard. I don't think Jesus had much to do with that. No, not my current condition. He paused, looking around conspiratorily. Sarge, if I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone? I perked my ears up. It wasn't uncommon to get a sell-side confession from some of these guys.

They were hard up to a point, but eventually their crimes begin to weigh on them at night. So they tell some guard, so he can tell some captain, so they can tell some warden, so he can tell the families of the victims, and the inmate can get some closure. I didn't know if that's what this was, but I was curious nonetheless. I promise. He leaned against the glass and whispered into the little ventilator, great. I can't die.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. Yeah? Good thing they gave you life then. Not being able to die could put a real damper on a death sentence. He looked at me through the glass and I could tell he was absolutely serious. I gave him a hard look. There is no way.

Get the hell out of here. No one. No one is immune to death, Howard. Howard stepped back into his cell and seemed to ignore me. He sat at his bunk and stared at the floor and I kept on passing my mail. There was no way. This was a classic inmate game of see if you can get the CEO to believe something weird. Once I bought into it, he'd laugh and tell the quad how he'd got me and they'd all laugh too.

When I finished this quad, I looked back up at his cell and he was at the glass again. Howard was wearing the same determined look that I'd seen earlier and for a moment I wanted to talk to him and clear this whole thing up if he hurt himself because of this I could get in some serious trouble I put it out of my mind and went about my routine it was almost time to leave and I wanted to be out the door when six o'clock rolled around Howard didn't bring it up again until the next day I came around with his lunch tray and noticed that he was standing in the back of his cell.

He was naked from the waist up, his chest had tapestry of scars and mostly healed burns, and he was pressing a shank to the spot where his heart should be. I scrambled for my keys and fumbled for my gas, intending to spray him before he could hurt himself. Before I could get the flap open, he'd already plunged the knife in. He backed into the wall, his knees giving way. and as his blood punt out of his chest, I felt my numb fingers reaching for the radio to call for help. I had just drawn it to my mouth when he hit the door,

the hole already closing, and drug the wet knife across the glass. Believe me now, he said, his voice completely even. The radio buzzed to life. Whoever was in the booth must have noticed me out on the floor and thought something was going on. I keyed up the radio and told him that everything was okay as I watched the knife slide out from under the cell door

and bumped my foot. Howard stepped back, hands raised, a big grin on his face. I still insisted he'd go to medical. When the captain saw how much blood was in his cell, he agreed. I told them he had told me about a bad nosebleed. The captain believed me. But with the amount of blood, he agreed that someone needed to check him out. I agreed to sit with him in medical, and that's where he told me the whole story.

When I was six, my dad came home drunk and broke my neck during a beating. I thought I was dead, lying on the floor while my mom's scream between punches. But when I didn't die, I realized that my neck wasn't broken. My mother cried over me. tears streaming out of a raccoon eyes, and that was when I realized that I was different. When I was 16, a cop shot me three times in the chest during a robbery. I spent three years in juvie, but was also deemed a medical miracle. I've been stabbed, burned, shot, thrown out of and off of things,

and I always come back just fine. I listened to his story, not sure I would believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. That's why I wanted to tell you about it, Sarge. When my dad broke my neck, it was 1901. Dad was a coal miner, mom was a homemaker, and I have seen the rise and fall of a century. I have looked 30 since I was 20, and I'm tired of living. It's a curse to live this long, especially here. And if I want to die, there's only one way to do it.

He leaned in close, his chains clinking as they kept him strapped. to the bed. I have to give it to someone else. I leaned away from him. His breath reeked of unbrushed teeth. And you want to give it to me? I said dubiously. He nodded. You've always been one of the good ones, Sarge. You treat us fairly, like people. And that means something to us. I want you to have this curse. Maybe you can do more with it than I could. It would be a lie if I said the idea of living forever didn't appeal to me. Having unlimited time to pursue the things I loved, not having to worry about time getting in the way

and being able to enjoy life until I was ready for it to end. The word curse kept rattling around in my brain, but I honestly was having trouble seeing it as a curse. As I lay next to my wife that night, I imagined outliving her and our son. Maybe that was the curse. maybe Howard and watched the people he loved die over the years and that was the terrible part

I mulled it over for a week before I gave him my answer we were taking them out for cell clean-up and as Howard stood there ankle chains and hands cuffed behind his back I moved next to him and asked my question so Say I wanted to take this power

how do we do it he smiled knowingly. Been thinking about it for a while, huh? I shrugged. Well, yeah, you have to admit that it's a tempting offer. He nodded but said nothing. So, how does it work?

I asked impatiently. We shake hands and you say, I take this burden unto myself. That's it, I asked incredulously. That's it, he said. He turned to look at me then, and the look in his eyes should have told me all I needed to know. His face was calm, but his eyes were hungry to be rid of the curse. His eyes burned with a secret desire, a desire unknown to anyone who hadn't been trapped in a cage as he had.

His whole body seemed to vibrate as he extended his hand. And if I hadn't been so eager, no, greedy is a better word. If I hadn't been so greedy I would have seen the lock and never came close enough to touch him ever again I reached out and shook his hand without a second thought

saying the words exactly as he had said them I take this burden unto myself that's when the most intense feeling of vertigo I had ever felt hit me my vision doubled tripled and swam like pools of turbulent water

for a minute locked in eternity, I could feel my very being as it was siphoned from me and spit back by a giant's lungs. I was turned into a torpedo, bottled in a jar and poured over a volcano. I cannot adequately describe what happened, but when I returned to myself, everything changed. I was slumped against the railing, head spinning and vomit dripping between the grating of the catwalk. my hands hurt and my legs seemed sluggish I could hear voices asking if I was okay but when I tried to respond

my tongue didn't want to work properly as my vision cleared I was again struck by an odd sense of vertigo as I saw myself coming up from my knees I stood up and shook my head testing my hands and locking over at myself as I leaned against the railing I tried to reach out

when my hands were stuck behind me. I took a step towards myself, but my legs came up short and I fell on my face on the metal grating. As my nose broke, I was aware of the second most excruciating pain of my life. I rolled over, spitting blood, and I could see myself standing over me. When I smiled, I felt a cold horror spread over me. Howard's smile was spread across my face. What happened? One of the other, Cio asked, coming out to the cell and looking at Howard

as he stood over me. This roommate lunged at me, I had to put him down before he hurt himself. Howard said, never taking his eyes off me. That's so, the Cio asked. I think his name was Taylor, but who remembers?

Want me to call the captain down here so we can start some paperwork? Nah, Howard said. I think he's had enough. Help me get him back in the cell. They moved me back into Howard's cell, grabbing me under the arms, and once the leg restraints came off, they walked out and closed the door. I struggled to my feet and ran to the little window, but Howard was already leaving the quad. Officer Taylor told him to put my hands through the flap so he could have the cuffs.

I tried to explain it to him. I tried to tell him how I was not inmate Howard and how Howard had put my mind in his body. But the things I was saying were a hard cell at best. Tellis stared at me through the glass, blankly listening to what I was saying in the same way that I had for a thousand inmates. He heard my words, crazy as they sounded, but he let them wash over him

before he again told me to give up the cuffs before he had to call the captain down there to get them. I put my hands out and he took him off. I tried to tell him what happened again, but he closed the flap and moved on, leaving me in an 8 by 10 cell with nothing but my own. confused emotions.

That first night was the worst night of my life. I paced the cell, eating and drinking nothing, as my mind ran around my head like a rat in a trap. I hadn't seen Howard for the rest of the day, and it didn't do any good to try and talk to any of the other officers. They just thought I was talking crazy to get sent to the psych doctor and ignored me as I raged against a glass. I didn't sleep that night.

After the lights went out, I walked and screamed and yelled my frustration out among the screams of the other prisoners to shut my mouth. If you've never been inside one of those cells with the door closed, you can't imagine how small it feels. Knowing that you have no escape from that hell is pure madness. Knowing that no one will come if something should happen to you is pure hell. I understood after that night why so many inmates go insane. I worried about my wife and son the most. What if Howard found his way to my home? Wearing my face, my wife would greet him and let him inside without question.

What would he do to them? Would he hurt them? Thinking like that made me scream all over again, and by morning I feared my vocal cords had been damaged. The juice they gave me with breakfast helped my raw throat, but he did little for my mental anguish. After the first night, I found a nod. little hole in my mind to crawl into.

That's where I lived for the next week. If someone came to give me food, I ate it. If someone came to take me to the shower, I went. If they tried to take me to wreck, I ignored them. I slept in a fetal ball on my mat and let time slip by. Time ceased to matter anymore. Sometimes I would sleep for whole days, lost in my misery and coldness. The world shrank to an end up to an end up.

an 8 by 10 concrete box and the things outside it mattered very little. I could hear whispers on the quad, but I ignored them. My name often came up, my old name that Howard now wore. No one had seen me in a while, and there was talk that something had happened. I had done something, something bad, and was likely not coming back. I tried to block it out. I held my hands against my ears and refused to listen. but as the details came out my worst fears were realised

I had murdered my family I had shot and killed my wife and son there was evidence of assault of my wife neighbours had heard her begging for a life and heard my son screaming as he killed them he had left afterward and killed five more people they had caught him in the act and taken him alive his trial was scheduled for later this month

he was likely to get the death penalty this information trickled in over the course of weeks I was privy to it but did not actively participate I stopped eating my eyes constantly running at the thought of my family's suffering my wife my son they were both lost to me forever they had died believing that I was their killer

my greed had led to their suffering and as I lay there I realised I could not take such pain I tried to kill myself the next night the officers on duty found me hanging from a bed sheet and cut me down rushing me to medical it was needless

I had suffered no ill effects I'd never even lost consciousness Howard had been right my body refused to die I could have cut myself stabbed myself or throw myself off the bunk and never even suffered a bit of ill I had gained the power I wanted

and now I saw it for the curse it was I spent a week in medical under observation I sat in a 12 by 12 concrete room with a big glass window so they could monitor me I was dressed in a big green smock with velcro fastenings and given a rip-resil-rescented

mattress to sleep on. They gave me pills for the pain, pills for the psychosis, or the depression I was likely suffering from, but I didn't take them. I spit them out the second they weren't looking and wallowed in my pain. After a week, they let me go back to my old cell. As they led me back onto the quad, I noticed a new face staring at me from behind a door. It was a little thinner, the hair a little longer, but the smile was still the same. He smiled his knowing smile at me from behind the glass, and I felt my stomach drop. I was looking at myself. As the doors closed behind the officers, I heard him at the back window, trying to get my attention. I'd seen inmates do this when I was an officer, talking to each other through the back window great,

but I lay in the floor and tried to ignore him as he called to me he tried to goad me telling me how he'd screwed my wife how my son had cried as he'd beaten him how they'd both suffered greatly before the end but I just lay there and ignored him

he told me about the gas station he'd turned into an abattoir after that using my own shotgun to kill three customers and the clerk but I ignored him he told me how he'd killed a cop before they had apprehended him how the cops had wanted to kill him so

badly, told me how the trial judge had said that life was too good for someone like him but I went right on ignoring him I've been sentenced to death I have no attorney, no appeals to file no chance for a retrial

I doubt it'll last more than a year on death row before they execute me it looks like I finally get to die I ignored him He tried to get my attention at every available moment. He told me of the murders again and again. He told me how his life story had been a lie. He told me how he too had been a guard once.

He told me how he had taken the same deal and been trapped here for years and years as his sanity eroded away. You'll sit here too in Strague. No one seems to care about an eternal prisoner. I ignored him until the day they took him off the block and led him down to the death house. That's what the officers called it,

the little building where they put inmates to death. I was there on the night they executed him. I did not watch from my window. I lay on the floor of my cell in a fetal ball and did not moan the passing of my old life. I was still there when the sun came up. I don't know how long ago that was. Time had no meaning there.

Time has no meaning to those trapped in hell. I ate when I had to, I showered when such was offered, and I went a wreck when it came to be my turn. The faces of my wife and son soon faded from my mind, and for that I was grateful. Their memories are a fiery brand against my soul, and I know now I will be able to answer for them someday. I'm writing this from a library terminal in a city I never bothered to learn the name of. I live on the streets In much the same way I lived in prison I eat when food comes my way

I sleep when I can find a place to sleep I shower when such things come to pass Unlike prison however I find myself at wreck A lot more often You must realise by now But if I'm out Then someone made the same deal I did

I however Did look back before I left him In that hell forever His confusion was familiar But I never looked back again I kept running Kept moving And now I feel my sanity beginning to return

It's easy to forget what hell was like once you're out So if you work in Stragview And an inmate offers you immortality Do yourself a favour Tell him to shut the hell up And keep walking Thank you.