CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "There was something sinister under the Oak Valley Grain Farm" Creepypasta

Episode Date: July 17, 2023

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...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- • "I wasn't careful... ►"Personal Favourites"- • "I sold my soul f... ►"Written by me"- • "I've been Blind ... ►"Long Stories"- • Long Stories 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

Back in April of 2013, I was a building and zoning inspector from Mon County, West Virginia. We were situated in an office up in Morgantown, where I usually worked with zoning permits and annual municipal building inspections. Not the most exciting job, but in my line of work, the best day in the job is the day when nothing happens. The fight against entropy is constant, and I had a sense. sign hanging above my desk to remind me of such. They simply read, everything breaks in cursive with a baby cherub in the corner. I remember being called up early one morning. There had been some sort of geological event and every inspector would be pulled off desk duty. We needed immediate building inspection in the area surrounding the outskirts of Greenbrier

Valley. We were to coordinate our efforts with a central manned up in Green County. That morning, it seemed like everything was topsy-turvy. The local news talked about an escaped murderer and we were getting calls about a lake being drained. The local hospital desperately needed blood donations but couldn't tell us why. Overall, something was up and neither of us liked it. But we went along with it. I was assigned to a full inspection of a farm close to the epicenter, the Oak Valley grain farm. I was handed a dossier on the owner, employees, tax records, zoning permits, all that stuff.

But I was practically pushed out the door before I got the chance to go through any of it. I'd only finished half my morning coffee when I found myself standing in the parking lot with a stern-looking man impatiently tapping his foot, waiting for me to get on my way. Given the way they were hurrying us, I got the impression that something terrible had happened, and yet we were told to expect minimum damage, if any at all. Still, I had to remind myself of the external ardage. Everything breaks. That includes old barley farms.

Once I was out on the road, I took some time at a rest stop to go through the dossier, mostly to get a feel for the place, and a place. an idea of what to look out for. So, the Oak Valley Grain Farm, a 75-acre area originally established in 1882. The site was used both as a barley farm and a lumber storage yard, as most of the surrounding area was covered in oak trees. A few years into operation, they expanded into having an off-site cooper and making their own barley moult for whiskey production.

The original malting facility and accompanying barrel storage was still in use to this day. The one problem I could spot was the historical buildings. Oak Valley had a series of Prohibition Era buildings and underground storages, some of which were still being used. It was all legitimate and more of a quirk than anything. But those areas had not been properly inspected for years. The landowner had been reluctant to allow an inspector's free reign and Mon County hadn't seen the use in harassing the owner because of what could be, at most considered her curiosity.

There was about a dozen employees, not counting irregular extra labour, the off-site Cooper Workshop and seasonal farm-to-table event organisers. I got there at about 10 a.m. Even from the parking lot, I could see, rolling hills of sprouting barley. Redbirds were circling overhead, some kind of migrating species that had come home to roost. There was a constant low droning in the area, both from the machinery and emerging spring insects. The air was dense with a smell of rain-drenched manure and fertile soil. I was greeted by one of the equipment operators, Elsie, a quiet, middle-aged

woman with a permanent squint on her face, like she was always blinded by the sun. I stifled the instinct to ask if she'd had a vision checked in the past six months and settled with shaking her hand. Welcome to Oak Valley, she smiled. Lacey will be out in a minute. Is the landowner in? I asked. Mr.

Kettleman. Anders Kettleman? Yeah, he is usually not around that much. Elsie sighed. Lacey is the, uh, de facto boss lady, runs the day-to-day operations, and as is a sort of hands-off kind of guy, ever since he got sciatica. Sorry to hear that, I nodded. Let's see the boss lady then.

Elsie showed me past the office and the silos. I was regretting not putting on more appropriate footwear, but most of my on-site inspections were usually municipal buildings. This was out of my comfort zone And my feet would have to suffer for it Manure ridden water pressed into my socks I met Lacey Kettleman outside of the workshop She was busy trying to get a hold of someone

To finish the repairs on a secondary combine Lacey was in her early thirties But had already started to go grey She held up her finger as we approached finished a phone call and turned to me with an eagerness to walk right through me. I'd met a lot of people like Lacey Kettleman before. There was something about her that put me off. There was something...

There. What's this about then? She asked, crossing her arms. A standard inspection, ma'am, I said, on account of the geological event in the area? We ain't had any geological events. she shrugged, so your services aren't necessary. This here is a sizable property, I said.

I'm sure you haven't had the time to check if everything is up to code. I can help you with that. Then I'll be on my way. I appreciate that, but no, no need. Business as usual. I looked over at Elsie, still hovering on the outskirts of the conversation. I clutched my dossier and resumed eye contact. Miss Kettleman, do you mind explain to you?

the problem with your combine arvester. I'm not entirely sure, she said. That's why I'm trying to get a hold of someone who does. Then would you mind me having a look at your garage? Or better yet, the combine? The combine doesn't constitute a building, sir. No much use for a building inspector to take a look at that. Let's start with the garage then.

While Lacey took off with a cell phone in hand, Elsie stayed by my side and guided me around the property. Turns out, Elsie was supposed to be the one to operate the second combine. Since it was out of commission, she didn't have much to do. She only had access to a few buildings, but was enough to get me started. First off was the garage. While Lacey had said there'd been no noticeable geological event, there were clear signs of disturbance. Several items had been knocked off the walls.

and there were web-like cracks in the concrete floor. Nothing major, but enough for me to take note. There was no way Lacey was unaware of this. I took some pictures, made some notes, and wandered off to check the storage shed. Over the next few hours, Elsie escorted me through the grounds. While most buildings were off limits to her, and Lacey was nowhere to be found, I could still check the exterior. And while I didn't see anything obviously dangerous, there were clear signs of the area being disturbed.

I could see the ground having shifted downhill from the storage sheds, entire rows of barley were bent. While waiting for Lacey to meet us by the offices, Elsie and I started wondering by the edge of the grounds. There were plenty of oak trees there, historically used for making their own barrels, and there were several old trails snaking through the undergrowth. We were walking past the gazebo when I noticed an old well. Nothing out of the ordinary at first sight, but I noticed something strange about its algae. I took a closer look.

Turns out the well was overflowing with water. Elsie seemed just as surprised as I was. It's been dried out for years, she said. That's definitely new. There was a pulse to it. Gulps of water making tiny bumps in the surface tension. Algae and lily pads overflowing, making a green circle around the stonework.

It had a strange smell to it, like salt and ammonia. Lake water? This wasn't normal. We met up with Lacey and I explained the various signs I'd seen around the farm. Elsie quietly retreated, not wanting to be dragged into the conversation. Lacey just nodded along, but didn't seem to react as I told her about the cracked concrete, the tilted rows of barley, or the various disturbed shelves. Seeing as there were clear signs of the area being affected,

I told her I had to take a closer look at the structural integrity of the main buildings, and finally, there was the well. This time, she reacted. She had nodded and accepted everything up to that point. But all of a sudden, she was defending herself. She tried to explain that the well was backed up and that they'd had a problem with water runoff in the past. There was nothing in the dossier about flooding,

but Lacey was adamant. Also, arguing with her didn't do us any favours in gaining access to the farm interior. You can stall all day, Miss Kettleman, I reminded her, but we're not done until I say so. We're not keen on government folks skulking around, sir. Lacey smiled. This place has history. I told her I'd be back the next day, and the day after that, as many days as it took for me to do my job. Lacey just grinned. She wouldn't make it easy for me. I took some time checking in with the other insolm.

inspectors. Turns out, I wasn't the only one who'd noticed some strange abnormalities. A lot of bursting pipes, it seemed. The local high school was also a mess, not to mention the elementary school over in Juniper. I was given no details about it, except that no one was allowed on the premises, and the entire school was sealed off, even for inspectors. By comparison, my overflowing well was nothing. And still, I couldn't check the feeling that something about Lacey was off. I checked the dossier over and over that night, trying to make a game plan for the following day. I'd take some extra time checking the irrigation and plumbing and putting emphasis on the interior. Lacey would just have to comply. And yes, I'd even check the old Prohibition era

storages. She'd just have to deal with it. I was up, bright and early, the following morning. I got to the Oak Valley grain farm at about 7 a.m. Only to notice that it had been closed. Lacey had put up a sign of the door, closed for renovations. That was it. Maybe she figured we wouldn't have to conduct any inspections if there was no current business being conducted.

But that's not how things work. I tried calling her, but got no. response. I sent her a single text. She was either to open up the facility for inspection, or I had to take legal action. Shortly afterwards, she assured me she'd be there. One hour and 30 minutes later, Lacey came out of the main office building. Apparently she'd been there all along. Strange though, she had no car in the parking lot. She was out of her work clothes, just having slapped on a grey hoodie and a pair of torn jeans. She looked exhausted.

Pleasant morning, I asked. I curse myself for forgetting to bring appropriate footwear again. Lacey didn't respond. She just wrapped her arms around herself and kept her head down. Something was wrong. We headed into the main building. Nothing out of the ordinary. No damage, no problem with the plumbing.

All in all, it seemed perfectly fine. I couldn't figure out why she was so reluctant to show it to me. Then I double-checked the dossier. Of course, there was the Prohibition era seller. All right, I sighed. Time to head underground. Is that absolutely necessary? Lacey asked.

It's a mess. We don't use it for much. You've been putting off an inspection for a long time, Miss Kettleman. Given the circumstances, I can't really motive putting it off any further. It's a cellar, she shrugged. There's not much they can go wrong with it. Everything breaks, ma'am. The door to the cellar was so small I had to move sideways to fit.

How they moved contraband whiskey through there back in the day was still a mystery to me. Still, I was there to check for damages, not sightseeing. We came down to a large open space with an eight-foot drop into a storage area. It was about 16 by 20 feet in total. There was an old steel ladder leading down, with two open paths leading deeper. A set of flashlights were hanging on the wall, so I brought one with me. As I put my hand on the first rung of the ladder, I noticed Lays' expression change. While she'd been angry or frustrated before, she looked almost apologetic now.

This will complicate things, she sighed, but we'll work it out somehow. Sure thing. Now, the support seemed fine, I said, climbing down, but there might be damage further in. I stepped away from the ladder, taking in the smell of salt water and ammonia. The moment I did, Lacey pulled up the ladder. This caught me completely by surprise. I hadn't even considered that an option. The ladder just rattled away.

I was left down there. It was so sudden I didn't know what to say. I just threw my arms out in a confused shrug. What the hell? I'm sorry. Like hell you are. Put the ladder back. I can't.

I'm calling the police. There was no coverage. We were too far underground. I was slowly realising that she was going to leave me down there. All I had was this flimsy flashlight and a couple of hours of battery on my phone. Lacey remained up there, holding the ladder. I could feel my heart pounding, drowning out the background noises in my head. I was growing shorter breath, struggling to exhale.

I've never been claustrophobic, but this was something else. Something darker. A real, actual threat to my life. They came to me, looking for shelter, Lacey said. They speak, you know. What are you talking about? They said you were coming. and I want to hear what else they have to say.

You can't keep me here. We just need time. What do you? There was a sound coming from one of the side corridors. My heart shrunk and floated up into my throat. I held my breath, trying to hear the sound through my hammering pulse. I could feel my fingertips growing cold. It was a strange hissing sound, like someone trying to start a dying moment.

motor. Lacey stood at attention, listening intently. Something was down there with me. We came into their home, Lacey whispered. Now they're coming into ours. I backed into the corner of the room, only now noticing the thin layer of water covering the dirt floor. I turned off the flashlight and listened, trying to calm myself enough to not go into hyperventilation. Something was coming this way. Footsteps. Hello, Lacey whispered.

Will you speak to me? The footsteps stopped. There was another hissing noise rattling me. It felt like someone was playing fiddle with my nerves. Of course, said Lacey, is all yours. I could hear her stand up to leave. taking the ladder with her.

The footsteps came closer. I tried to move, but I made too much noise. The footsteps stopped for a moment. I thought I'd scared it, frightened it, made it hesitant. Then it burst into a sprint. I turned my flashlight back on and ran down the corridor on the opposite side of the room. I tore down all kinds of debris as I went. Planks, old barrels, empty jars, whatever I could get my hands on.

I glanced back, catching a pair of eyes coming out of the dark. A wide, shark-like mouth. A side room, some kind of meeting area. I jumped over a table, knocked it down, and backed away. Seconds later, the table was smashed into, fragments of wood scattered across the room, making my nose itch. But the thing stopped. It stayed just outside my vision on the edge of the flashlight. It hissed again, sending another shiver at my spine.

But somewhere in that vibration, I heard something. It wasn't a word, but a collection of scrambled thoughts, much like a word square, a jumble of information, that you had to find your own meaning in. But rest assured, there was meaning. Fear, anger, hunger. What do you want from me? I asked.

My flashlight flickered, and the thing twitched. It was ready to strike, like a coiled snake. It hissed in response. Hunger, hunger, sadness. I retreated into the corner of the room, accidentally knocking over a shelf of empty prohibition error bottles. I could see the reflection of those dark eyes shining back at me as they patrolled back and forth, looking for an opening. Another hiss. A pleading, a promise, a bone-chilling coldness.

It was starting to sound like language. An old, primal language. a language that could summarize so much with so little. I fumbled with my hands, looking for the biggest bottle I could find. Finally, I got a hold of an old wine bottle, waiting for the creature to hiss again. I readied a bottle for a throw. As soon as I felt that tingle in my spine, I knew I was about to hear it. I stood up, lowered my flashlight, and threw.

as hard as I could. There was a thick, fleshy thunk. The hissing stopped, and I could see the dark eyes rise another two feet into the air. The thing had been hunched over. Now it was taller than the tunnel itself. It flinched, spitting out another word. With that single word, a series of impressions washed over me. Cold, water-filled tunnels, the crunch of raw fishbone in my mouth. Dying men in black togas, giving praise to a drowned god, hoping against hope to see another dawn. I didn't notice. I'd been zoning out.

I'd lean the flashlight downwards, and I could see those dark orbs inching closer. I backed up against the wall and inched away. effectively side-stepping my way around the room. The creature followed my movements, matching them. I ended up with my back against the corridor. So I turned to run. It was right behind me and it was fast. I just kept going, hearing the hissing coming closer.

Hunger, joy, hunger, warmth. I went straight through the thing. the storage room and into the opposing corridor. It twisted and turned, only to spit me out into a room with a slightly lower floor. I fell forward hap-assedly, spraining my ankle and dropping the flashlight. In an instant, the flashlight flickered and died. I fumbled through my pockets, bringing out my phone. My hands were shaking so bad I couldn't unlock the screen. On the third try, I got it open and the flashlight app came on. This time, the creature was almost upon me.

It screeched and retreated, blinded. It had too many limbs, too many... Everything. Anger, desperation. Leaving my phone on, I tried to get back on my feet. I couldn't. My foot was too badly sprained. I could hop around a bit.

at most, but I was no match for whatever was out there. Instead, I looked around the side room I was in. It must have been some kind of armoury. There were broken wooden crates and used up shotgun shells littering the floor. I used a bold oil lamp on the wall. Don't come in here, I said out loud. I'm not dying here, hissing, a strange word hidden in the fog of my mind. A man handing a venomous snake to a golden woman, rolling hills of endless crucified men, a certainty of a violent death, the wailing song of the doomed. It didn't understand my fear. I was already doomed.

There was no point in fighting it. To the creature in the dark, time was an insignificant factor. I realized I'd been sitting there listening to it hissed to me for at least ten minutes, my cell phone was running hot and the water level had risen by about an inch of course the water level there had to be water coming from somewhere everything breaks it was a miracle that i hadn't seen it before there was an overturned table in the middle of the room that's what i'd sprained my ankle on kicking it with my good foot i reveal the crack in the dirt floor from which water came bubbling up A few lily pads plopped up, their coloration, a strange blue, like a sad sunflower.

The crack in the floor might have been the remains of a well, or the start of a tunnel going deeper underground. Either way, I had to take a chance. There was no telling how deep it went. I could drown, but I could also find my way out. I left my cell phone with a flashlight shining on the entrance holding the creature back With a final screech it conveyed a final picture Webbed fingers deep underground Tearing a human body to pieces

I took the plunge I crawled my way forward inch by inch The wet dirt barely gave me any grip and the water stung my eyes my nails hurt from all the debris trying to dig into my fingers I could feel my chest tightening cramping a fork in the path I went left a current a stream brushing something slimy out of my face

a tilt upwards cold I can't feel my arms hunger reaching hunger I broke through the surface I was in the stone well I threw myself out gasping for air looking back

only to see something just under the surface of the overflowing well two black orbs retreated into the dark sinking back into the unfathomable depths I made my way to the nearest road and flagged down the first car I could see

Lacey Kettleman was brought in for questioning But that's all I know. There was no trial, no debriefing. I just told about my experience to a stern-looking man in a suit, and that was that. I was told to sign an NDA lasting a minimum of ten years. It ended recently, and I've been waiting to tell my story. And as Kettleman eventually took back control of the Oak Valley grain farm. As far as I know, Lacey never went to jail.

Something must have happened, though. She was missing for the better part of a decade. Maybe she had something they wanted. I think that whatever I met in Oak Valley had something to do with the crisis of 2013. There are a lot of rumors coming out of that area, and I'm sure at least some of them originated with whatever Lacey had. invited to stay in a cellar. There haven't been many others coming forward about their experience of that incident, but

I know they're out there. Maybe they're hoping we've all moved on or forgotten. Maybe they've been safe behind their contracts and fear tactics. But I'd like to remind them, as much as I remind myself every day, everything breaks.