CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "There is an extra student in my class" Creepypasta

Episode Date: October 1, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saturdead: 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►Luna_Nguyet Nguyen: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/D5...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

There should have been 21 assignments for me to grade, and yet I was looking at 22. It didn't make any sense. I double and triple-checked the pile of papers, but there was no mistake. I only had 21 students, and yet there were 22 pages to grade. I was hunched over my desk, looking through the pages one by one. I took note of all the names trying to find the extra assignment They were all simple essays

Where they described what they'd done during winter break And what they were most looking forward to in the coming year A simple English assignment In the middle of the pile There was one paper that clearly stood out It was barely legible and there was no signature The text was written in squiggly lines with a red pen pressed so hard into the paper that it had punched several holes.

I'll be free, the paper said. I got out and she has no idea there's two of us now. The paper was barely legible, half-finished sentences describing a sudden awakening, thoughts of breaking things, describing people as disposable objects, hearing a voice in the mirror. My friend gave me a flower,

and now I'm here. There was a scribbled drawing of a blue sunflower in the corner of the paper. It was the strangest thing I'd ever read. Yeah, I'm a teacher. The kids I teach are on the edge of turning into teenagers. It's an awkward age, but it is that space in a young person's life where you can really make an impact. If you can make them feel seen and heard, they might gain confidence that'll follow them for the rest of their lives. I have 21 students in my class, eight boys and 13 girls.

The day after I graded that paper, I didn't know what to think or say. After I took attendance, it dawned on me. Whoever handed in that paper was in the room right now. It threw off my tempo. I had them do individual assignments while I found my bearings. It was the usual ruckus, bickering and joking. with teenage flirting, loud discussions about whatever was new online. But something felt different, malevolent.

It had to be one of the girls. The paper had hinted at it, but which one? I handed out an extra assignment. Nothing fancy. I just took the crazy paper out of the bunch and distributed the rest among the students. For tomorrow, they were to write a short essay telling me about what they'd read in the other student's essay. Reading comprehension and writing at once? No one would have a problem with that, except the students. As I got back home with some takeout sushi, I looked

over the strange paper again. There were some smudges going left or right. No matter if you're right-handed or left-handed, that'll happen. But further down, there were more smudges. It looked like the writer had held the pen like a hook with a pen for the pen for the pen. facing the writer. It indicated a left-handed writer. I double-checked with a few articles online which said the same thing. But there were no hook-handed writers in my class. I would have noticed. But I was sure there were a few left-handed people. I finished my sushi and went to bed with a chilling feeling that I was missing something obvious. The next day I got the assignments. all 21 of them, no extras.

I breathed a sigh of relief, figuring that maybe someone had just played a cruel prank on me. We got through the classes of the day without a hitch. We even managed the fairly successful math quiz. All in all, I wasn't complaining. The extra assignment wasn't that important, but I took them home to grade them anyway. Some had put some effort into their work, and I wanted to reward them. No matter the age, everyone loves gold star stickers, and I had plenty on my craft's table. I started going through the papers, only to notice something.

There were, once again, 22 of them. At some point during the day, someone had snuck an extra paper in there. Going through the pages, I couldn't help but to feel the bubbling sense of dread. One of these papers was going to be terrifying. it felt like getting slowly pricked by a needle. At first there's just a pressure, but you know the hurt is coming. It was at the bottom of a pile.

Red ink, barely legible, spots from a hook-handed writer. I know you've caught on, the paper said. I want you to know, I want you to chase. There were little sketches of drops of blood falling into an open mouth. crude but clear. Chase me.

I chase you. I didn't sleep well that night. I pulled the curtains. I double-checked all the locks. I pulled the covers up tight, and I left the light on in the hallway. And yet, I still had that awful, sinking feeling that I was missing something.

Was it Claire? She had always been a bit of an odd ball. Or maybe someone I'd never expect. like Chandra, maybe Petra, Fiona. I had this mental image of someone following me to my car, a young girl hiding in the backseat, a maniacal smile popping up in the rearview mirror, sharp little nails and unblinking eyes diving towards me,

cutting my throat open as I'm going 70 miles per hour down the freeway. I didn't sleep well, I started imagining shadows passing by in the hall, in the corner of my eye. A few days passed I started taking notes on the girls in class I checked what pens they had and which was their main hand

If it was just a matter of someone pranking me It might be enough just to find a left-handed girl However No girl in my class was left-handed And no one owned a red ink pen I also had a chat with a school counsellor They couldn't betray patient confidentiality but they could tell me whether they were aware of any problems that might explain this.

They weren't. If anything, they seemed more worried about me. Since this started, I seemed to be on edge. They didn't blame me, but they wanted to make sure I was taken care of myself. I tried several tricks. I tried monitoring the hand-ins. I tried watermarking the papers. I tried all kinds of tricks.

but I got nothing. At the end of the day, I kept getting outsmarted. It was as if the paper just appeared out of nowhere, some time during the day. I couldn't pin it on anyone. I tried to just forget about it, but every time I graded a paper, I feared that another threat would show up.

Sometimes it did, sometimes it didn't, but the times it did, it just... ruin me. That peaceful moment of grading papers and listening to audiobooks had turned into a horrific slideshow. I'll show you, one of the notes said. I'll break a light in your house. That same day, the kitchen light stopped working.

It didn't look broken, but how could I possibly tell? One of those days, as I was chopping leaks in the kitchen, I got this awloughed. awful sinking feeling in my stomach. Looking out the window, I noticed something, a silhouette just a few feet away. She was short, with long black hair. There was something wrong with the shape of her face. Her skin looked grey. For a moment, we just stared at one another. It took me a few seconds to realise that it wasn't just a face. It was a second. It was a second. skull. Still clutching my kitchen knife, I stumbled away from the window. It had to be a mask. That wasn't a real face. It couldn't be. Suddenly, the lights broke. All of them. The kitchen,

the hallway, the bathroom. Hell, even my desktop lamp at my home office. All of them shattered, spreading hot shards across the floor with a violent bang. My ears rang and I dove for cover. felt like a gunshot. Looking up, there was no one left outside. No mask, no kid, no nothing. I called the police, but there was little they could do. There had been her power surge. That much the electric company could confirm,

but there were no witnesses of an intruder. I showed them the notes and filed a threat report. We had a long talk and they tried their best to calm me down. but at the end of the day I was still alone and someone was out there I went through that image in my head a thousand times I had several girls in my class but no one that fit what I'd seen her hair was too long she was too short too skinny I couldn't think of anyone that fit that description but she'd been there no doubt in my mind and I had

this gnawing feeling that I'd seen her before. Over the next couple of days, I couldn't stop seeing her. She'd be across the road as I went to work in the morning. I'd see her pass by the window in the cafeteria. And one day, as I was driving home, I saw her in the rearview mirror of my car. That grey death's head grinning at me. I was getting more notes, not just slipped into the hand in a store. assignments, but also just scattered around my apartment.

At one point, I snapped. I just stepped out of the shower. I put on a bathrobe and started to dry my hair when I noticed the message on the bathroom mirror. There, written backwards, it simply said, Chase me. I screamed as my heart sunk. I broke the bathroom mirror with my hair dryer.

What the hell do you want from me? I called out. What the hell is wrong with you? I barely noticed the glass shards cutting into my feet as I stumped out. I'd had enough. I had to do something. I couldn't live like this forever. Kid or not, this had to end.

Where are you? I called out as I passed through my bedroom. Where the hell are you? I glimped something outside the window. Of course she was around. always there, always near. Come out, I screamed as I entered the kitchen. Show yourself.

The moment I stepped into the kitchen, it shook. Every drawer, every door, every appliance, everything flung open, as if pulled open by a steady hand. I was so frustrated I could cry. I just wanted it to end, but I was too scared to move. It felt like anything could happen at any moment, like the entire world was listening to me and reacting accordingly. I just stood there, trying to remember to breathe. Please, I whispered, show yourself, stop this. And, as if to answer my call, she did.

The front door creaked. The hinges rusted and fell apart. A gentle breeze. was all it took for the door to break. She was so small. There was no doubt in my mind she wasn't wearing a mask. She was nothing but bone.

I backed away like an animal pushed into a corner. I tried to force myself to attack to do something. But as a response the kitchen shook again. This time it was pandemonium. Cutlery crashed on

the floor, plates rolled out of the dishwasher and broke apart, glasses shot across the room like bullets. Even the little drawer of miscellania collapsed in on itself, spreading knick-knacks and rubber bands all over the room. I've chased you, I screamed. Are we done? Is this it? She raised a thin, grey finger. She pointed at something in the corner.

A dry, blue sunflower. Something clicked in my head. That sense of missing something. It was still there, but this was the answer. Somehow, this was it. What do you mean? What? Just talk.

Don't just... There it was. The first note. There'd been a drawing of a blue sunflower, and it said she'd gotten it as a present. This was that flower. I was sure of it. I got out and she has no idea there's two of us now.

That's what it had said. That was part of the very first note. She was talking about me. I had written those notes myself. I'd handed in the assignments. That's how I never noticed it. I never looked over at my craft's table. My red ink pen was half empty by now.

I had red smudges under my left hand. And then there was her. Of course I'd seen her before, time and time again. I had long black hair as a kid. I'd been skinny and short. You found me, a little voice said. Funny. The images came flooding back.

A shadow in the bathroom mirror, a simple hello, and a flower offered. I remember taking the hand of an impossible being, reaching across a nightmare space to darken my inner child. This awful, malevolent being, living at the core of my soul, something dead and resurrected, tried to make room for madness. But it wasn't just madness. She was real. Doors don't just rust by themselves.

Glasses don't throw themselves. And I can't, for the life of me, cause an electrical surge with my mind. This was a real being with real power, and she'd settled in the back of my mind. And now I'd chased her. I'd found her. Do you want me to leave? She said. I can.

I didn't know what to say. Of course I wanted her gone. I wanted it all to be over. But there was this gnawing feeling that there was more to it. She didn't just scare me and torture me for the first. fun of it. Tell me to leave, she insisted, set me free. This was it, wasn't it?

She wasn't free? She came from me. And so, maybe she was stuck with me. Maybe she couldn't leave. Maybe she couldn't hurt anyone else. Not as long as I'm around. It had said I'll be free in that first note. That meant she wasn't free as of now.

To me, it suddenly made sense. Standing there, I just shook my head. You can't leave, can you? I cackled. You're just as stuck with me as I am with you. I could kill you, she laughed. No, you can't, can you? If so, why haven't you? There was no response.

You need me to cut you loose. to get you out there, don't you? That I find you and just let go. I took a step forward and saw blood seeping out from the soul of my feet. My hands were rattling like leaves in the wind. I'm not letting go, I screamed. No way. I'll hurt you. Do your worst. But there was nothing more. In the blink of an eye, she was gone. but in my mind's eye I could still see her. Every memory of seeing myself as a kid was tainted.

I had memories of seeing myself in the mirror with a skeleton face grin. I remember seeing my reflection in water puddles. I knew that wasn't what I'd look like, but in my head that was me. We were interchangeable. She was me and I was her. Two beings. And I was going to keep her here. I'll be a damn walking jail.

I know it sounds absurd, but she is real, and nothing I can do changes that. I couldn't live with that thing coming out, reaching other people, spreading. I can't work at the school anymore. She scares the children. I'm afraid of seeing other people. She hurts them whenever she gets the chance.

I've seen birds fall out of the sky, a family of moles lying dead at my doorstep, circles of roadkill lined up around my car. I've been thrown, cut, burned and beaten. But I haven't succumbed. She is just as scared of me as I am of her. I had to get this down. If you're listening to this, something has happened. Maybe an accident.

maybe I've grown sick. I've set this up to be posted as my post-mortem as an explanation for my eccentric behavior. It's on a seven-day timer, so if I haven't confirmed my status by that time, it's safe to say, I'm not around anymore. And if I died,

I pray to God, I took her with me. I don't want to think about what that thing could do if set free. Unbound.