CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "There Is Nothing In The Walls" Creepypasta

Episode Date: October 11, 2020

Nothing. Nothing at all. CREEPYPASTA STORY►by CheqLights: 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►Nicola Samori: http://www.nicolasamori.com/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-

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I found this journal in the bedroom of the house I just moved into. The homeowners had taken some furniture with them, but not everything. The kitchen is intact. There are some books on a shelf in the living room. I have seen a grey stray cat around the house. The bedroom even still has a bed in it. I understood immediately why they didn't take it. It smells awful.

On it lay these pages. The doctor said I should write down my thoughts. I'm not sure how this is. is supposed to help me, but at this point I'm pretty much willing to give anything a try. What makes it more difficult for me is that she didn't give clear instructions. I've

never done this before. Like, I've never had a diary before. She said, I could write down anything I wanted to. Thoughts, feelings, memories, even poems. As if I would be one to write poems. But she said, just to get started, try to get

into it. That there's not really a wrong way to do this. We'll see. No much else has helped yet, so I might as well. I have enough time either way. I've been on sickly for work for weeks now. I doubt they'll put up with this for much longer, and I hardly ever sleep through the night.

Maybe I should include some context for future me, who might pick this up 20 years from now or so. To be honest, right now, it's hard to imagine that there will be a future where I might even want to look back at this time. But the doctor said it was important to keep a hopeful perspective. And God, do I want to try?

So, I think I've been seeing this doctor for about two months now. The problem has been going on for much longer. It was just when I couldn't bear it any more that I was finally ready to get help. To be honest, I just kind of hoped that she would tell me that none of this was real. And even if I have a hard time believing that myself, maybe she would just give me a few pills and I'd get better.

But it doesn't seem to be that way. She wants to know why I'm experiencing this. And damn, so do I. But I think our ideas of possible reasons are very different. She keeps bringing up my parents, my loneliness, fears. But I swear, I was fine before this started. I had a nice childhood. I know I'm lucky that my parents left this house

when they decided to move to Spain to spend their older years in a warm climate. It was a great time sharing this house with roommates during our college years. I loved it. But college is over. My friends have moved out and the building doesn't feel like home anymore.

I swear, I never had problems living here in the past. As a child, I knew there was nothing in the closet or under my bed. As a teenager, I was never worried when my parents stayed out late and I was alone. And as a college student, I was just thankful to have a home to live in rent-free. I think I first started noticing something at the end of last year when it started getting colder outside. At first, I suspected rodents had come in to flee the cold. Maybe they were in the walls, causing the scratching that I was hearing during some nights.

So, problem solve a brain that I have, I got some traps and set them up in the pantry, my bedroom, even the attic, everywhere I could think of. But, no matter the bait, nothing ever got caught. Maybe the mice or rats out here in the country were too smart to fall for my peanut butter lies, I thought. and because I had been feeling that this house was too big for me alone anyway I decided to give myself an early Christmas present and got myself two cats from the shelter in December still thinking of rodents it was the logical next step right I named them Rue and Rory

it hurts a bit to remember Rue went missing shortly after the new year had started some point during January I never found her I don't know what happened to her. But after she was gone, I never let Rory outside again. I became a bit of an overly worried cat parent probably. But I think she's adjusted to having a territory limited to this fairly big house. And even though I never regretted getting the cats, they changed nothing about the

noises. If anything, those grew more frequent. I never found a pattern, neither for the noises, nor for any of the other things. I really don't know if writing all the things. I really don't know if writing all this down was a good idea. I'm starting to feel bad thinking about this so much. After all these months, I'm worried I might be going insane after all. The noises always came at night. The cats didn't seem interested in them. I'd expected them to be curious, maybe sniffing the walls, whatever cats do when they want to find their prey. But the opposite seemed to be the case. The cats had started to sleep in my bed, but when the noises started, They left the room.

By then, I thought I didn't hear only scratching anymore. Was that a clicking sound? A faint knocking. Could that still be rodents? Were they damaging some kind of wood structures inside the wall? Looking back, I can't pinpoint when exactly it happened. It must have been gradually that I became obsessed about this. I started to stay awake purposefully to not miss any noises.

I wanted to solve this mystery. Sometimes I startled myself by rustling my own bedsheets. More than once I tried recording them, but I think my phone can't handle them. When I showed the recording to the doctor the other day, she only said, All I can hear is your breathing. I searched the whole house for holes in the walls,

for mice excrement, anything. I went from basement to attic and back for nothing. It was almost ridiculous. Even if they weren't causing the noises, Shouldn't this house have at least one or two mice? But it seems my parents had always taken perfect care of the place. I found nothing. At that point, the light had not started flickering yet.

During one of our first sessions, when I was trying to describe what was going on, the doctor asked me whether I had considered to move out of the house if I felt so uncomfortable there. Uncomfortable? Ha. I wish it was just that. But in the beginning, she couldn't yet have known just how much. bad it was. Her question wasn't helpful. Of course I thought about moving. Aside from the fact

that I would be sad giving up the house I grew up in and that I would miss it. By now, I'm ready to just get the hell out of there. I think I might be better off never solving this mystery. But even if I wasn't sure, I'll lose my job soon. I absolutely can't afford moving. I'm not sure how long I can even afford to keep paying these dumb sessions. I'm not making that much money. I don't really have any savings. I don't know how to get all my stuff

to a new place. I wouldn't want to leave Rory behind either. Finding a cat-friendly apartment that also happens to be affordable for me seems like a dream from another dimension. A waking dream though. I don't remember when I last slipped through a whole night.

Right now, I can see the first traces of light from dawn. The sun will rise soon. I've made it through another night. This one was relatively calm. After looking through the house, I don't think any more items are missing. The light only came on once around 3 a.m. After that, a bit of scratching.

Whatever is in there, I thought, why hasn't it long scratched its way out of the wall? There can't be much left to scratch on in there. But, even though the light of day promises me a break From all these things I can't explain, I can't relax. A weird presence has moved into this house with me. The air feels heavier and harder to breathe. I think Rory is feeling it too.

She's been meowing to be let outside a lot more. And even though I had sworn to myself I wouldn't. Maybe I should. If one of us can manage to get away from this house, maybe I shouldn't stop her. As for myself, even though it's been feeling worse, and worse in here. I somehow feel tied to this place. I just know I won't get away, even if I try. I'm not sure how to explain this, and every time I get to this point with the

doctor, I can see the doubt in her eyes. She doesn't believe me, and I can't blame her. For her, I'm just another patient, and I want to be. I hope I'm wrong. But paper can't judge, so I will write freely. The pressure that resides in these walls now feels sentient. It's like it's watching me during the day, almost like it's looking forward to keeping me up at night. It's like the thing that scratches inside of my bedroom wall at night is floating through the air at day.

And I don't know how dangerous it is and how much you can interact with the house, with me. Shortly after New Year's, a kitchen knife went missing. I know for sure, because it was my favourite knife, sharp enough to glide through meats like it's nothing. I've basically emptied all kitchen cabinets looking for it and found items I don't remember owning, but the knife stayed gone. I wanted to believe it was impossible. Maybe I'd thrown it out into the trash accidentally, but deep inside I knew that was nonsense. I'd always been extra careful with it, washing it immediately after each use and placing it back where it

it belonged, where now there was an empty slot in the knife block. No matter how much I'd like that knife, I couldn't come to terms with it being gone, but the next thing that went missing was Rue. And that was the last sign I needed

to know that whatever was going on was nothing good. I didn't want to believe it at first. I walked around outside in a radius of miles probably, looking for her, even knocking in ditches and under bushes, in case some bigger animal had gotten her,

but there was no trace. I tried to tell myself that this doesn't have to mean she was dead. Maybe she had run away. That's what I wanted to believe. But why would she? She had always come back before. The cat sisters seemed to have a real bond. She seemed happy with me.

No, there was something more behind this, and I just felt it. That was the night that I first started scratching back. I was sitting in my bed facing the wall, waiting without moving. But once the scratching started, I put my nails to the wallpaper and started mimicking the noise. As if to confirm my suspicions, the scratching reacted to mine. It grew louder and more frantic, and when I increased my scratching too, the knocking came. It was a wild echo of increasingly loud noises.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I started banging the walls of. my fists. Leave me alone, I howled. What do you want? I had not thought about what I was saying. Maybe if I had, I'd asked myself if I truly wanted an answer before spitting out such a question.

All at once, the noise from inside the wall ceased. My heart was beating so strongly it hurt. I tried to keep my breathing as quiet as possible. Not trusting the silence, I slowly move my ear to the wall to see if I could hear

anything. The noise that spoke next sounded so close that I was half expecting to feel a matching warm breath against my ear. It was a woman's voice. So much calmer than I would have expected. She sounded matter-of-fact, as she stated. You. Maybe I should have been brave enough then

to ask the question that has been burning my soul ever since then. But for months now, I haven't been able to confront whatever was inside the house. directly again, and so it stayed silent. Just the thought revolving in my head that I would now pin down on this paper. Why? Over the weeks, I did try to talk to the thing in the wall from time to time. No matter how much my doctor tried to assure me that there could not possibly be anything

sentient living in them. I just had to try. But all my hellos, my who I use, stayed unanswered. When the light started going on and off on their own during the night, I finally understood that whatever it was, it was trying to wear me down. It knew just fine that I was scared and that I didn't know how to deal with it. The scratching from the wall seemed to sound like it was inside my head, gnawing on my school from the inside.

I had panic attacks that left me so cold with the sweat. The lights inside the bedroom went on, off, on, off. Then on for a few minutes. then off again. I fled from the bedroom to the living room, but there I realised that the lights were different from the scratching, that I had always been confined to my bedroom, but this was bigger.

Each and every single bulb went on and off at the same moment. I stared, still not wanting to believe it, into my eyes fell on a single candle on the living room table. The flame was burning, then it blew off, burning again, off again. I broke down crying, until, after a few hours, it finally stayed dark. I could feel Rory snuggling up to me and on the sofa, and held a warm, purring body, until the sun came up. I knew no one would believe me if I told them.

I didn't want to worry my parents, and I didn't want my colleagues to get the idea that I wasn't right in the head. Until I was tired enough of it all to contact a psychiatrist to my own. and even though I think she's a great doctor deep inside I feel like she won't be able to help me I am still working with her trying to follow all of her advice otherwise I wouldn't write this down but none of her suggestions come close

to the reality I've been living in for all these months electricity problems exceptionally sneaky rodents old pipes stress making me forgetful and losing stuff sure I know that's what I would tell someone else too if I heard a story like mine, but from the inside, all of this is too real.

I think I could get used to the lights, accepting the heavy air is harder, feeling like I can never leave this house for good is unsettling, but not a nightmare yet. The last thing that has been added is this smell. I can't say what it is,

just that it's terrible. It seems to get stronger every day, but I still can't, identify it. I don't think I've ever smelled something like this. I was playing around with the thought of finding the source, but I gave up on that before I even got up for my bed. I knew that just like with the noises, it would be for nothing. I wondered if this too would fade into something I could live with. It doesn't matter though, because no matter how I adapt, I will never be okay with this damn scratching.

No matter how loud I blast music on headphones, no matter what I stuff into my ears, nothing can overpower it. I feel like it's nesting in my bones, even though it's still coming from the walls. I want to scream at it, come out, but I know the reply without having to do it. It wants me to come in instead.

I can't go anywhere anymore without feeling watched, without feeling a weight on me. I know that all the outside, of daylight are just their own kind of anticipation of the night. I can't take it anymore. I feel like I'm as hollowed out on the inside as my wall should be. This life isn't worth of living. Rory is tapping against the door.

I will let her out now. I can't keep a trapped in here with me anymore. No matter how her calming presence has helped me in the past. She's sitting outside in the field that I can see from the living room window now. It's a beautiful image That now, grown cat In the early summer sun Overlooking the field and the woods in the distance

It's a world open to her now I wonder if she'll realise that I won't be letting her back in Will she try to come back But does she feel the truth just like I do now The freedom outside should be her home now And I just hope she will be okay At least one of us When I started writing this down, I had not known yet,

but I think the plan was already growing inside of me, and now it's blooming before my eyes. I know what I will do. I see now that there's no other way. I will cancel the next doctor's appointment. I will call my parents one more time. I will get everything I need, and when night comes, I'll be ready.

and I just hope that when it's over it'll be over for good I'm writing this as a final goodbye in case this will ever get found from my last resting place I'm writing this from inside the wall I did it

I knew the walls weren't solid as the building plans claimed at least not this one after I had moved my bed away from the wall I got to work at the hammer and actually broke through the outer barrier was quite thin after I had made a tiny hole into the wall

it was easy to make it larger I broke off more and more pieces of the wall and wallpaper there was a hollow space in the wall deep enough for a person to fit in for me to fit in as soon as the opening allowed it I crawled inside

and as soon as my foot left the bedroom and all of me was inside the wall I could feel the heavy pressure lifting off my shoulders I know that I am where I'm supposed to be. I can see the hole I made into the wall slowly closing. It doesn't scare me now, because I know that I'm doing the right thing.

This will end the scratching. There's not much light coming in from the closing wall anymore. This will be it. I'm in the wall now. It's okay now. I'm here now. Reading this has disturbed me, but I mean,

It must have been a work of fiction, right? Or could it have been the previous owner's kid actually going mad? Who knows? I didn't want to care at first. But you see, I've been curious all my life, so I decided that I at least wanted to look at the wall that I had read so much about. And for that, I had to move the bed.

First, my gaze fell upon the wall. It was intact. I hadn't been expecting anything else, had I? There was a dark shape on it, faint like a shadow, only noticeable when you were looking for it, just as I were. It could have been anything. I wanted to say it was nothing. But then I saw what was lying on the floor, previously under the bed. What had come to light had been the source of the smell.

The cat looked like it must have been dead for months. Despite its almost mummified state, I saw a certain similarity to the grey cat that had is still wandering around outside. My brain was still trying to come up with an explanation when I saw the knife. Its edge looked sharp still, even though it was blemished with something dark,

black, that could possibly have been blood once. Poor cat. I turned around, ran out of the house, and threw up right then and there in the porch. I realized I was shaking. I never should have read that messed up journal, I thought.

There could be a million explanations. explanations for the cat. Someone coming here after the house was empty and messing around, or maybe the author of that journal had really been going crazy and sliced the cat up. No matter how bad that was, there was nothing supernatural about it, right? But I couldn't get the writing out of my head, so the next thing I did was go through all the papers I'd gotten when buying the house. The author had been right about one thing. The walls should be solid. The rest couldn't have been true though, right? How could I have found the journal on the bed then, right?

Nothing like that was possible, right? I really don't know what made me decide to get the wall tear down. I made sure it wasn't a load-bearing wall and claimed that I wanted to reorganise the ground floor. Make the living room larger, pick another room as a bedroom. I don't think the construction workers really cared for all my explanations, and I admit that there were probably more of excuses for myself. telling myself, I did still not believe the journal, telling myself that I wasn't scared.

I was just doing some normal construction in the house I was moving into. Um, excuse me, the voice of one of the work has startled me out of my thoughts. I caught myself praying that he wouldn't say what he was about to. We've found something. You might want to see this. Actually, you might want to call 911. The wall had been solid. there was no free space around the body they found. It looked like the person had just sat down,

legs close to the body, and gotten surrounded by the wall. I shouldn't have looked, but curiosity, remember? The body was literally embedded into the wall. It seemed like it hadn't decayed much, being enveloped like this, protected from oxygen. But the workers had only free the side of the face and one arm,

waiting for the police to decide what to do, next. I felt it looked like the guy was smiling. I could see he had a pen in his hand. I don't think I'll keep this house.