CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "The Thing Under the Bus" Creepypasta

Episode Date: October 12, 2020

What could it be?CREEPYPASTA STORY►by jalapeno-whiskey: 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- Lisa Steinberg: ►https://www.artstation.com/artwork/EDBxe►https://www.instagram.com/thegremlincat/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-

The festival's season is Aangbroken, and that betekent mudder. And so, ging Kim to come to comasone.com. On the look at a waterdict tent, a comfortable luget,

oh, so, snus, and lupart print regalarze. Miao! Now, Kham's not like Kim to make over the modder. Net so as the dancing mottraman,

there, oh, wait just even, has he now only modder on? Oh, yeah, only modder. Drove blithe? Goar for. Find what you need

you need to have on Amazon.com. I had taken a seat up front so at the next town I could quickly jump out and grab another coffee. Half the passengers were asleep, but I could never get any Zs on buses. Besides, someone had to keep the driver awake because the highway was getting slick with slush and the snow had gone from Hallmark Christmas to Ice Road truckers. Don't you worry, son, said the grizzled bus driver. This old girl has seen everything from hurricanes to rising rivers.

She's a tank. that's what she is. I wasn't worried at all until he told me not to worry and for the first time I could see he was worried gripping the wheel with two hands and craning forward to sea. Highway 84

cut an almost straight line west to east through the Appalachian Mountains. Charleston, West Virginia was the next stop, then onto Pittsburgh where I figured to get off and look for another bartending gig. Break lights suddenly lit up ahead. Traffic coming to a stop.

stop. I felt the bus's antelog system grinding as it slowed. Further up could be seen the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. The second row of the bus was filled with steel fans, probably returning from Sunday's match-up in Kansas City, and one of them pulled out a pint of Captain's Morgans. I feel a detour coming, he said, refreshments, anyone. As the bus got in line to exit the highway, the bottle made its way forward, and I didn't decline. The tiny old woman next to me in the window seat shocked me by taking a swig as well, which gained a cheers from the Steelers fans. Across the aisle from me, directly behind the driver, sat a man I'll call duck shoes. Carrying a worn briefcase and wearing an equally worn suit, his West Virginian accent told me he was probably on his way home.

A neat, pleasant man, the kind always ready for wet weather, as indicated by his shoes. He accepted the bottle, but only wet his lips with it to be social. Just the thing for a cold night, he said. Cold being West Virginia for cold. Don't you folks worry, said the bus driver. I know a way that'll get us there just as sure. We backtracked a couple miles toward Kentucky and 117, the driver searching through the snow for a street sign.

Myrtle Creek's Road, he said. Old Settlers Trail. Duxu sat up straight. I don't recommend going down that old road just now. Been down that road plenty of times before, the driver replied, Nothing to worry about. You ever been down it at night?

The driver didn't respond to that, but he found the entrance and turned onto a two-line highway where no other ties had left a path in the snow. Duckshue stayed silent, but he looked like he needed to do more now than just kissed the mouth of that pint of morgans. The dark road cut its way through dense woods and swollen Appalachian hills.

The captains made our end of the bus the more popular one, and I guess people were starting to feel the spirit of making connections on a little adventure. A youngish woman with red hair and red cheeks made a way forward for a taste, and, after downing a healthy hit, followed up with a little dance right there in the aisle,

earning the affection of the steel fans. Only one person up front refused the bottle. A quiet man in a hoodie who seemed about his alert and troubled his duck shoes. only far less sociable. I caught the driver's eye watching Red in the mirror, so I was facing forward when something ran out of the woods

and onto the road right in front of the bus. The driver swore as he slammed the brakes. A tall white thing thumped into the windshield and disappeared under the bus. A hard bump sheltered passengers in their seats, producing a few screams and sending Red into the lap of the Steelers fan as the bus skidded to a stop.

Damn it, damn it, the driver muttered, throwing the gear in park and holding his chest. After taking a moment to calm himself, the driver reached down for a flashlight beside the seat, turn the toggle on the control panel that opened the door and stood on shaky legs. But before he could get used to the stairs, Doug Shoes jumped from his seat, toggle the door closed and grabbed the driver. For God's sake, man, he said, don't open it. What's the matter with you? asked the driver. Someone might be hurt.

Duxus held onto him for dear life. Someone? Did you see that thing? That was a person, asked Red, standing in the aisle again. Was on two legs, wasn't he? said the driver. Wasn't two legs, Duxu said. But that was no human being.

Had to be a man, as Steelefan argued, was running like one. The driver tried to pull free from the hand that gripped him. A go, sir. I have a responsibility. Just call for help, Dukshus pleaded. Better yet, drive on and call. Didn't you see that thing?

The driver was finally about free from him, and the old woman next to me spoke in a trembling voice. I saw it. Don't open it. There might be more of them. More of what? Red asked nervously. I felt like I should add my weight to one side or the other,

but I couldn't be sure what I saw. I kept playing it over in my head It had happened so fast Something white, definitely on two legs But those eyes People were still arguing Nervous words going all the way back to the half-full bus When a pounding came from beneath the bus

Sh several people said The bus became perfectly quiet Only the gentle humming of the engine And the bus is wipers and then it came again more powerful a few passengers sobbed or others started arguing again

something has to be done that thing was monstrous can't we just leave do you have a cell signal I'm getting nothing there must be a storm maybe the local powers out the banging grew louder

or maybe just like imagination made it seem so I checked my own cell phone no signal I'm going out said the driver, close the door behind me. I'll go with him, I said. The driver showed me an appreciative look.

I could see his terror, and I wondered just what he had seen, since he had the best view of whatever had come from those woods. Duck shoes reluctantly released the driver, shooting me a dirty look at the same time. I zipped my jacket tighter and followed the driver out into the snow. His flashlight wouldn't come on, so I used the flash app of my phone. We heard the door slammed closed behind us. Nervous faces watched us from the safety on the bus.

You might be thinking I'm the heroic type for going out onto that empty road, but I assure you I'm not. Truth is, my own selfishness is probably the reason I found myself hopping buses and won my tickets, but that's something I wasn't ready to face yet. I could barely make out the tall, dark hills surrounding the road, dense with towering pines. As we approached the rear of the bus, we could see a form lying just past the rear bumper. The driver gasped and almost came to a stop. Whatever or whoever was lying there showed no sign of movement.

Closer to it, the bus tail lights revealed antlers. The beam from my phone showed a hoof. A second later, We were on top of it, exposing it to the light. An eight-point buck. The driver sighed in relief. Without hesitating, he grabbed the two hind legs and started pulling. I grabbed the front legs, and we hauled it off the road.

Several passengers held up their phones from the window and took photos. I don't mind telling you, I felt great relief when I boarded back onto that bus to a round of applause. The driver faced the passengers briefly. Just the dear, folks. Then fell into a seat and eased the bus forward again. The Steeler fan passed me the almost empty Captain Morgan's. We saved it for you. Duck shoes, however, looked ashen, and seeing his expression unsettled me.

Was a buck really what I saw go onto the bus? Maybe it was. Maybe the power of suggestion had put ideas of something monstrous to my head. one of the Steelers fans, a portly woman with a pleasant face and a warm laugh gave me a woo-hoo as I finished the bottle of captains. The driver pulled out, keeping the bus at a very cautious speed down the deserted highway, his eyes darting from one side of the road to the other, alert for anything which might run from the woods. We'd only travelled about a mile or two, when, to our horror, the pounding from beneath the bus started again. everyone quieted.

For a few seconds, only the windshield wipers broke the silence. But then it came, loud and powerful, like something was trying to break into the bus from the bottom. The arguments reignited. Stop the bus, are you crazy? Could be someone dragging someone. Impossible, the road would shred them. Not with the snow.

I know what I saw, and it wasn't no deer. Never forget those eyes. Doug Shoes told the driver, Don't stop, you saw it too. The driver looked straight ahead, clenching the wheel, biting his lip. It was as though he had seen a nightmare, something so horrible he couldn't be real.

And as soon as he had the first chance to dismiss it as imagination, which the dead book gave him, he had seized on it. But now the banging from underneath brought it all back. Hadn't I done exactly? the same thing. When it came down to it, hadn't I been doing just that thing for years,

running from the horror that haunted my memory? Try my best to pretend it never happened. The driver didn't slow. In fact, he accelerated the bus. Red demanded he stop. Others joined her, while duck shoes, the grandma next to me, and others insisted they keep going. Even the steel of fans were divided. I still had contributed nothing to the debate. I called the driver studying me in the mirror. I had been talking to him for hours. It felt like we're in this together, especially after I went outside with him to find the deer.

If I said to stop the bus, I knew he would. But I said nothing. All arguments ended when flashing blue lights appeared behind the bus. A cruiser. I could see the relief in everyone's face, no matter what side of the argument they were on. The bus slowed to a stop. Whether one thought there was someone under the bus that needed help

or something monstrous that posed the threat, the cavalry had arrived. The cruiser came around and parked a few dozen yards in front of the bus. Snow instantly whitened its back window. Everyone on the bus remained silent while it sat there the longest time. Finally, the cruiser door opened and the trooper emerged, a silhouette slowly crossing the headlight beams of the bus. The flashing blues of the cruiser were almost blinding to those of us on the darkened bus.

The driver opened the door and the trooper climbed the stairs. Several people at once were telling him to check underneath a bus. The driver finally swallowed hard and spoke to him. Sir, did you see something? The trooper raised his voice so it would reach the length of the bus. I'm looking for a Trevor Williams. At that point, I know. noticed the trooper's hand on his pistol.

None of the passengers admitted to being Trevor Williams. So the trooper began to unfold the sheet of paper and looked down at the printed image. His eyes were still squinting at it. When the gunshot thundered inside the bus,

my ears rang from the explosion close behind me. The bullet pierced the sheet of paper in the trooper's hand and struck him center-body mass. Screams followed. The quiet man in the hoodie, gun in hand, was already sliding out of his seat into the aisle. The trooper glanced down, then up, his eyes wide with shock, and then he slumped back and crumbled into the stairwell.

The bus driver muttered, oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh Jesus. The shooter came forward, casting quick, meaningful glances at everyone in nearby seats, looking back once to make sure no one charged him from behind. I had a quick idea to try and grab his gun hand or tackle him, but nerves got the better of me. When he reached the front, he looked long into the eyes of the driver, who was not a big man. Then he turned toward a couple of the Steelers guys.

You two, get him off the bus, he gestured toward the trooper in the stairwell. At first, they were too stunned to move. Do it, now! With a pistol aimed at their faces, they roosted. slowly from their seats. Open the door, the shooter ordered the driver. The gunman stood far enough back

so that if one of the Steelers fans tried something, it would likely be a life-ending decision. The driver opened the door. The one in the best position to try something was me. But the shooter seemed to realize this and kept glancing my way.

I remained frozen. Just throw him off, the man told them, but don't get off yourself or I'll put one in your back. He figured they might break for the still idling cruiser. I could see everyone on the bus trying their phones, but still no signal. The steel fans struggled to lift the trooper, who showed no signs of life.

One of them was forced to get out in front and lift the trooper from beneath his shoulders. The shooter stepped forward and aimed his gun right at him. And, understanding, the guy dropped the trooper on the road, then squeezed back up the stairs, while the other Steeler van pushed the trooper's legs out. The shooter then directed them with his gun back to their seats. The heavyset woman with the Steelers fan, the one on the other side of the aisle who said little, but laughed so hard at their jokes, had tears streaming down her face.

Drive, the shooter ordered. His motions, awkward and jerky with fear. The driver put the bus in gear and hit the accelerator. But the wheels skidded uselessly in the snow. The driver punched it, but only succeeded in burning rubber. He punched it again and again, iron the gunman as though he might fire on him at any second. Hold on, shooter told him, straighten the wheel and put it in reverse, nice and easy. In panic, the driver just ripped the gear into reverse and hit the gas.

Again, the wheel spun. Not like that, you idiot, straighten the wheel. The gunman had taken a place by the stairwell. so no one could reach him now without being seen first. This also left him right in front of me. I held my breath, not wanting him to mistake any movement of mine. The driver shifted again into first gear and hit the gas, to no better result.

He exasperated, the shooter stepped forward and shifted the bus into Park with his left hand and began straightening the wheel. When the crying stealer woman went berserk, launching herself at the shooter's gun hand, latching onto his forearm and wrist with both hands. He tried to fling her away, but she had significant weight on her side and the power of the crazed. Meanwhile, the other steel offense jumped up to help her,

followed by me. While people cried and yelled on the bus, we managed to finally wrestle the gun from the shooter's hand and push him onto the floor. Go, go! Dux screamed at the driver. The stunned driver didn't react. Get us out of here,

Doug Shoes yelled. The driver started to shift into gear when I told him to hold up. Let's get the hell out of here, Red shouted. We can't just leave the trooper, I argued. He's dead, the old woman next to me screeched. We don't know that, I said. I've had enough of this. Someone from a few rows up groaned, get us the hell out of here.

Everyone seemed in agreement. No, I told the driver with a commanding voice I sometimes had to use behind the bar. Two minutes, pull that trooper back on. Then we go. He didn't nod, but neither did he shake his head. I could tell how much he wanted to highterl it out of here, but he would wait. He's gone, Duckshue shouted. Look, the trooper's gone.

Everyone pressed their noses into the window. A wave of murmurs swept the bus. I leaned over and looked to the door. I could just make out a smear of blood in the snow. He got him! The old lady screeched. terrified voices drowned her out Open the door

I told the driver Shut up asshole Let's get the hell out of here The driver's hands were shaking on the wheel The trooper needs a help I whispered to the driver He must have crawled away But Duck Shoes had heard me

Like that damned deer crawled away I turned to the stealer hero for support But the distraught woman just shook ahead Let's get the hell out of here Two minutes, I beg the passengers Just give me two minutes If anything happens, you have the gun One of them held a pistol

While a couple of men had come forward To keep the shooter pressed onto the floor No one said a word I reached and turned the control for the door Two minutes I said Then I went out into the snow Using my cell phone flashlight

I found a smeart trail of blood Leading on the road toward the back of the bus. I followed. Again, faces pressed against the windows, many of them angry, others terrified. Wet snow whipped into my face

and attached to my eyelashes. I heard branches cracking up in the wood-covered hills. Probably the wind, I told myself. I focused on the road, on the blood, the disturbed snow where the man must have dragged himself.

When I reached the end of the bus, I saw the form of what I assumed was the trooper, lying unmoving in the road, about 30 feet behind the bus. I jogged a couple steps in that direction. When I heard screams from the bus. I snapped around toward the front

in time to see something leap onto the roof of the cruiser. It rested on its haunches, coiled to leap again. I couldn't tell whether it was man or beast, but from here it didn't seem quite either. The door to the bus slammed closed, and the bus rolled forward.

Hey, I yelled, but it did no good. The wheel spun a second before the bus lurched toward the center of the road. It had reached the opposite side by the time I was passing the cruiser, but just as it did, the thing on the roof of the squad car

leaped toward the bus, almost disappearing in the blinding snow and landing on its roof. I'm not sure if any other passengers were aware of it, but the bus just kept prowling up the road, accelerating as fast as it could. I watched it speed away, my heart racing.

Those assholes. Before long, the turning road had taken the bus out of sight. My breaths came short and fast, my heart racing. I was about halfway between the flashing cruiser and the dead or dying trooper. Every fibre of my being screamed for me to just run for the cruiser. For years, I had been running for myself. My young wife had been dying of cancer. cancer for months, and she meant everything to me. I stayed with her day and night. When they put her in

hospice, I slept on the couch in the same room, listening to the machine breathed for her and the monitor beat the fact that she was still with me. But before the end came, I cracked. All those days, I had never left aside until at last I did. Her eyes followed me just a little when I told her I was going for coffee. I never saw her again. I moved toward the figure on the road. Branches creaked within the woods, high on the nearest hill.

The trooper lay with his back to me, blood, stay in the snow around him. He was gone, but I had to be sure. I crouched down and gently shook him by the shoulder, rolled him onto his back. Jesus.

I gasped and jumped back. the eyes that stared skyward were dead But the lower part of his face was missing Leaving a bloody hole where his jaw Mouth and nose used to be Something howled from the woods I hear my phone toward the sound The light didn't reach far enough

But the strobing blues from the cruiser Revelled flashes of tall figures Standing on the crest in the woods I watched them a long moment Frozen with terror When they started moving toward me I came out of my trance. I fell to my knees by the trooper,

searched his body for the holster. Surely the gun would have fallen by the road. I would never find it. Growling came from the woods, the crackling of branches rapidly coming closer, and then I found the gun still inside the holster. I pulled it out and stood, releasing the safety, praying it was loaded,

and firing it straight up into the sky. The movement in the wood stopped, flashes of blue light pierced the darkness of the trees. I ran for the cruiser. Shooting nervous glances at the woods, holding the weapon where whoever or whatever was stalking me could see it, focusing on the brightly flashing cruiser ahead. My foot slipped in the snow, but I did not fall.

At last I reached it, jumped inside, slam the door shut, tossed the gun on the passenger seat and put it in gear. I spun my way out of there. I pushed the spinometer too hard I could feel the tires hydroplaining so I eased it back to 40 surely that was fast enough

to outrun anything I grabbed the radio so I could call for help but it turned out I had no idea how to do that and all I produced was static and more crippling anxiety I recognised the FM button and soon had the Ormans brothers

calming me down I took deep breaths settled down behind the wheel one arm on the door. The almonds gave way to Skinnerd and my heart rate was almost back to normal when I saw the taillights up ahead in the woods.

I slowed down, hugged the wheel. The cruiser's headlights picked up the snaking skid marks left by the bus. My hand went to the pistol on the seat. Inside the bus everything was dark.

The front of the bus disappeared into the woods steam clouded and mixed with the falling flakes. My foot hovered over the brake. Freebird poured out to the speakers. I hit the gas instead. Screw him.