CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "There's a hatch in the middle of the woods" Creepypasta

Episode Date: September 9, 2021

AUTHOR'S SUBREDDIT► https://www.reddit.com/r/ManiacSociety/CREEPYPASTA STORY►by TheCrookedBoy: 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►MorkarDFC: https://www.deviantart.com/morkardfc/...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-

It was old, older than God, older than the hundred-foot pines that towered above. It looked like a submarine hatch, sitting on a low concrete rise, planted firmly in the forest floor. There were a tight beard of pine needles over a rusted wheel handle and bolts the size of apples. It took both of us to get the handle to turn. Metal grown in protest, screamed as it shaved away the layer of rust that had welded it shut. together we pulled the lid open it was heavy heavier than a house

then it split back on its hinge with a sigh of stale air darkness seemed to spill out of the hatchway like it had been bottled up for eons and was now ready to infect the world it looked as though a great metal mouth had opened up on the forest floor a predator's mouth

starving and ready to feed we peered down A surface elevator of rebar-like rungs descended the dark concrete bore into the great unknown. Hazy overcast sunlight for the darkness and lost, penetrating the meagre five feet before shadow claimed the hole for its own. Sammy found a rock that looked like a cat's head, negotiated it over the hatch and dropped it down. It whistled off into the darkness. We waited. Two teenagers in the woods of Washington listening for the sound.

that never came. That rock hitting the bottom. I was spending a month of summer with my cousin, Sammy, at a grandma's place up in North Washington. It was a gray and unsunny July. I'd only been there a day, but a kingdom of storm clouds had rolled in off the ocean and pitch camp over our corner of Washington, issuing unto it low, endless drizzle that left the wood soggy and awful. But today, The clouds had parted, pulling back in a blast of sunlight. With the weather cooperating, me and Sammy's daily dose of mischief, two purloin cigarettes had led us out through the trees behind Grandma's house. The woods were a wide, primordial riot, not entirely claustrophobic,

but dense enough that the massive pines would be warring for root space. We'd followed a thin vein of hiking trail, eventually breaking off on her own in search of some place suitably grunge the light up. We had been off the trail for no more than ten minutes before Sammy called out to me, indicating the closed hatch that would eventually swallow us whole. We brushed away a thin skeleton of branches, a great bed and moss, a tangle of brush to finally unearth the thing that resembled something city workers in bright orange vests might descend to access a gas main,

which was odd, because it bore no markings to denote its origin, not even warnings with penal codes that disobeyed would-be vandals. It was anonymous and disconcerting, like its lack of designation meant it didn't belong. Like it was an interloper. Sammy had asked me something. I looked up at her. What? What is it?

She repeated. Curious gaze pinned on the hatch. I don't know. I told her. I don't know what it is. I knew it was old. Older than God. Older than the hundred-foot pines that towered above.

The hatch was open, and Sammy wanted to go down. Come on, Lainey, she groaned. It'll be fun. We'll poke around, take some shots for our feeds. I'm not on that stuff, I shot back. Social media is the death of rational thought. True, she grumbled. But what are we supposed to do?

Hang out with Grandma all day and watch Rebel Without a Cause with commercials. I took a long, pensive drag on the stale Winston, not wanting to admit that I was kind of... terrified Not only was I worried about the hatchlet slamming on us, trapping us in, but the thought of climbing down

that shadowy ladder of disappearing into the earth's dark, quiet belly, made me want to vomit. Luckily, I didn't have to make any excuses. It started to rain. Sammy hissed as the first spray

a drizzle fell in grey sheets. Help me close it. I don't want it to flood. The rain was a fine mist, nothing more than a sneeze. and I doubted very much that it would flood. But I was more than happy to help us seal off that dark orifice. We did, together, before heading back through the trees, leaving the hatch behind.

We were soaked through by the time we made it back to Grandma's. She fixed us a plate of hot lasagna, and we watched James Dean's Everless Cool in Rebel. The commercials. My grandma's house was not unimpressive. It was a two-story Victorian rising in a colloquy. A foliage of faded red and white from a wide lot of crab grass, the open property hemmed by a wrought iron fence, all of it seemingly weighed down by a hundred years of history. It looked like something out of a Tim Burton movie. A Gothic manor surrounded by woods, a lone raft stranded in a sea of trees.

I was staying in my dad's old digs, a mess of ancient band posters and records. Breezy pink stuff like the gun club and the wipers. Despite all the vinyl, I was plugged into Spotify and Bowie was wailing moonish daydream when Sammy slipped in, face bright with mischief. Come on, she said in an excited, breathy whisper, let's go. It was late, dark and late. I thought she'd gone to bed, but she claimed a spot on the edge of my bed, charged with nervous energy. I lost my headphones and shifted to look at her.

Her eyes wide and excited. What? Go? I screwed my face into a confused knot. The thing, the hole in the ground. The mention of the hatch, the mouth made my skin crawl. What? I said. No way. It's like midnight.

It's atmospheric, she countered. It's pitch dark out. So, we'll vlog it or something. Record it. I don't know. It'll be fun. I groaned, shook my head. There's no way.

Then I'll go without you, Sammy huffed. Into the hole in the middle of the night? Yep, totally alone. So if I get attacked by sub-dwelling mutates, it's on you, because you're the older cousin and all. Don't be like that, I said, feeling my cheeks flare up. She smiled, a dimple forming beside her mouth, clearly amused at having manipulated me,

into a stalemate of mutually assured destruction. I was caught Either I go with her and keep her in check Or I let her go alone And something might happen She was 15 Only a year younger than me But impulsive and brash

And it wouldn't surprise me if she got hurt I could claim ignorance But if something happened I wouldn't be able to live with myself Despite being just cousins We'd always been close Always been more like sisters than anything else Sammy could try

driving at the wall, but I still loved her, and I could see in her eyes that she wouldn't be swayed. I blew another long sigh, pushed myself off the bed, shrugged on my black windbreaker. Let's get some damp flashlights, I said. I prayed for the rain I knew wouldn't come back. The clouds had burned off in the moonlight, leaving the heavens bright and clear. We found a set of headlamps in Grandma's junk drawer and navigated the low woods by the watery beams they provided. I also had taken an old Swiss army knife. It was made of rust and looked like it to survive for the Great War, but I took it just in case. I was hoping I wouldn't need it, hoping we wouldn't find the hatch, hoping he would be lost in the right of trees. But something

deep down, a high trickle in the deepest wrinkles of my soul, told me, and we did, almost immediately. It resolved out of the darkness. A small, brutalist platform rising out of the still damped soil. Had it been so close before? It must have been. It must have. Sammy was recording us with a phone, posting them on Instagram or something.

Who knows? My vision had whittled down to a dizzying pinprick, and all I could hear was the hot rush of blood pounding through my ears. I helped her tug open the hatch, vaguely heard myself ask if she really wanted to do this. Of course I do, she said. with a tight smile as she pocketed her phone, it'll be exciting.

Then she mounted the ladder and started off down the hatch. That sound only could have been made by the hatch lid slamming shot. We had been climbing down the narrow bore for five minutes, each rung burning with a hot metal freeze that nibbled through flesh and seemed to lick at the bone

when there had been a loud, metallic report. Dunk. We both froze on the ladder. Sammy just below me, panting like a tired dog. What was that? I whispered, hauling stale air through my aching lungs. Why are... Sammy started in a normal voice before dropping it an octave.

Why are you whispering? What was that? I asked again. But I didn't have to ask. I already knew. She did too. I heard the growling scuffle of her climbing back up the ladder. I started two. One white out wrong after the next.

My palms burning, my heart beating its angry fist against my ribs. The climb was hard. My body seemed to weigh too much, like each limb was encased in lead as I pull myself up, up, nearing what I knew I'd find. And I was right. The hatch was closed. I pounded on it, screamed, knowing that the only ones to hear would be us. I chipped away at it with the army knife to no avail. We tried our phones.

First mine, then Sammy's, pressing the devices to the lid's rough, rusted skin. No reception. Nothing but... The mouth. No one but us. Two teenagers. Her with red hair, me with brown, trapped in an awful ladder with nowhere to go. But down.

I don't like this, Sammy croaked. She sounded so young, like a little girl clutching a teddy bear after an especially dreadful nightmare. I didn't like it either. It was wrong. It was so, so wrong. It was a pyramid of rocks. The climb down the ladder had been impossible. Time fell away, shifting into a dull blur that didn't much matter.

All that mattered was finding your footing as you load yourself down, down, down, wrong after wrong, step after step. He might have been an hour or ten, but a while later, a long, long while, we hit a wide, concrete room. It was about the size of your average backyard. The ceiling low, unblemished, spurred a circular opening through which the ladder ran. Shadow shifted and danced in black relief as we played our headlights across the dark space. On the opposite wall the ladder stood, a wide, ruined opening. nothing but darkness beyond it. The massive bank vault-style door that had once filled it

sat in a twisted, broken heat nearby, torn free of its hinges by. Something. That was disturbing. It sent a sudden flood of hot dread filling my guts like boiling water. But what was worse was the pyramid. It stood in the centre of the room like a terrible roadside art sculpture. A painstaking pyramid fashioned out of countless rocks. I knew where the stones had come from.

Sammy did too. They'd been dropped from above by people like us. Hundreds of them. Thousands sacrificed to the darkness of the earth. The mouth. I knew because topping the pyramid like a Christmas tree star was the rock Sammy had dropped earlier. The exact same one.

No doubt about it. Talked carefully atop. the mountain of stones, placed there by someone, some thing. A high trembling sound like an animal in a snare filled the room as the reality of the situation hit Sammy. She had started to cry. She was losing it, unraveling at the seams, sitting on the floor, knees to her chest, rocking and sobbing and apologising for bringing me down here. We had to move. My whole body was one big screaming ache, and if we let exhaustion ease its warm blanket over our shoulders, we'd never get going. I sawed air through my lungs and boiled it into authority. We have to go, I said. She sniffled.

What? Her voice was nasly. She raised the trembling finger to the correct entryway across the room. Through there? I nodded, struck one of the matches I still had from the cigarettes. The flame wavered, gutted, as a breeze tugged at it. There's a breeze, I said. Airflow, another way out. She sniffled, shook her head. No, no way. I say we wait here.

Wait for someone to open the hatch. No one knows we're down here, I reminded her. No one. But what if? She started, looking at the rocket pyramid. She load a voice, a horse whisper. What if the thing that made that is in... There?

Where else would it be, I thought? But I didn't say that. She was close to Catatonia, and I needed her in motion. We have nowhere else to go, I said, nowhere. She looked at me, her face pale and ghostly in the light of my headlamp. Her eyes were buffy, red, bright with terror. Then she summoned her courage, like one would, a lung full of air. and nodded.

I altered to her feet, and we started off, through the doorway. There's someone following us, Sammy said in a choked whisper. The entryway had fed us into an underground hospital. It was abandoned, left to rot beneath the earth, a maze of scarred linoleum hallways, mouldering kernies and thick leather straps, blown out doorways and padded rooms beyond. No, not a hospital.

An asylum or a laboratory. A kind of psychomixer of both. This construction spoke of a time before technology and the advancement of human rights. Yellowed walls and popcorn ceilings were shredded, torn to ribbons, like a feral something had been set loose. Rusty smares of dried blood

textured the white darkness here and there. It was awful. Each footfall, each pull of breath, all sound seemed to echo. Clang, reverberate, of the white walls of this underground labyrinth. It was like a nightmarish estra painting. It was...

The mouth. Up until then, we've been negotiating slowly, rounding corners, finding more shadow-soaked hallways, passing an overturned reception desk, more padded cells, driven forth by terror and primal survival instinct. Then, Sammy had whispered in my ear, her breath hot, her voice hoarse with terror.

There's someone following us. I froze. I cold infection of goosebumps when sprouting up over my body. My lungs were tight, empty of air. My heart was pounding with icy fear. I turned slowly, not wanting to make a sound, afraid that if I did, it might make the someone real. She must have imagined it.

There was no one. There was... Then I saw the eyes. Two dull, milky pinpricks hovered. just outside the light of her headlamps. They were head level, higher than head level, unblinking, hovering and watching. Eyes.

Sammy's body was right up against mine. She was wound up like an overtog screw, terror radiating from her in hot waves. I could feel fear beating through her veins. The eyes moved so suddenly that both of us screamed. They searched forward without any warning, rushed at us. The thing, the something, the awful sub-dwelling mutate that would devour our hot intestines while we were still shrieking. I saw his crooked, emaciated silhouette, lumbering and lurching toward us.

A tall, broken thing, its arm stick-like and so impossibly thin. Those glowing blind eyes set into a narrow, malformed head, as moulded and precise as a canine skull. Then the creature hit up all of light, and the eyeballs popped out of thin air, like the light. had banished that thing, leaving only two marbles which clattered down, hid the floor, bounced and rolled to our feet. They steaded up at us, pale, seeing, and somehow blasphemous. Sammy and I jerked back and bolted like the wind. My cousin screamed and yanked me back, just as solid ground dropped out beneath me. We had been in a blind rush, a blur of hallways scrolling by, passing by padded cells with shadows that moved within them.

when the floor had suddenly stopped being. Sammy grabbed my shirt and jerked me back, just as I went tumbling out over the sudden chasm. After a good-wrenching second of uncertainty, I found myself on solid ground, looking down at the vast, empty nothingness. There was a 20-foot canyon separating this side from the other, a thin, splintery plankboard running across it.

It looked like someone had shoveled out a massive crew pit in the hallway of the underground nightmare. We peered down, hauling air through broken lungs, hearts pounding, not sure what we were seeing. A solid knot of arms and legs, interwoving and laced together, filled out the bottom of the abyss. They were grey, broken, decayed, torn flesh hung from bone, massive boils filled with hot puss, textured rotting skin. But this wasn't a shallow grave, and they weren't that departed. As soon as our light hit them, they slithered apart, breaking away like a hive of snakes under the burning heat of a magnifying glass. Dreadful heads, pained and dawned in agony,

recalled from the light, broken, human-like things forcing themselves off into shadow to reclaim what little salvation they had. They hissed and moaned and chuckled with insane humor, like condemned souls cast from heaven, forever banished to this pit of darkness for an existence of raw pain. Oh my God, Sammy croaked. But there was no God in this place. It was a great blasphemy born from the sin of the unrighteous. It was awesome and awful.

It was. A low sound came from behind us, tucked into the cacophony of torment. Sammy didn't hear it. Too taken with the pit of the damned. I slowly turned, turned, my heart fluttering with icy dread, my stomach nutting in on itself. But the hallway behind us was empty. I blew a relief sigh.

The giant meat spider exploded out of the darkness with a throaty screech, a blur of limbs carrying it across the scuffed ceiling. But they weren't limbs. They were human arms and legs. I gasped as it rattled down the wall, hissing and pulsing with hideous life as it joined the floor and searched forward. It bubbled into the light, a nightmarish set of conjoined twins, two separate, adrogynous entities melted together, appendages beginning where others ended,

scraps of face in all the wrong places, eyeballs and noses and mouths all scattered about its lumpy, fleshy form. It was a nightmare of terrible industry. And his head, much like a spider's, was bulbous and truly heinous. Patches of hair textured its lumpy scalp above rows of eyeballs and a wide mouth of thick razor teeth. Sammy turned, screamed and stepped back. It was instinctive, a single misplaced move that sent her out over the empty space. She reached out for me,

her fingertips skimming my arm as she issued a surprised, Oh. Then she was gone, plummeting into the sea of souls, swallowed by the mass of forgotten bodies. I heard her shriek, heard her wail in bright agony, as those things tore her, limb, picking her apart like a mean kid with a stunned fly. I then looked up, and a fleshy mass of teeth and eyes and hatred was atop me.

The meat spider tore me down into darkness. I awoke in a biblical spider web to the reek of death. It was a dark, sticky place, hot with a stench of dead things. The smell flooded my lungs, burned my nose and eyes. I looked round, my eyes of my eyes. adjusting to the gloomy haze. I'd lost my headlamp. Vibrous white net resolved out into the darkness,

stretching to and fro like an entropic masterpiece. All of it seemingly random and oddly beautiful in his precision. An incredible tapestry of psycho nature. Massive cocoon lumps textured the space, scattered throughout the nest like sleeping beauties. They were prey. And so was I. I couldn't move.

I was melted to a wall of webbing by a spray of fibre, not entirely cocooned, but imprisoned in a straight jacket of dreadful string. I tried to scream, but my mouth was gagged with a shred of webbing. I issued a low, muffled shriek, the sound of despair. Then the entire formation began to tremble with a low vibration. I heard a tight hiss, saw a dark shape skitter by. The meat spider mounted the nearest cocoon and tore into it with this terrible human-like arms, craning its lumpy head to suck meat from bone.

I heard congested slurping, things tearing, flesh and bones snapping apart. It was feeding, and it would come for me next. I slowly began to struggle, trying to work some slack into my binds. But they held firm. I felt something firm in my back pocket. I patted it desperately, the Swiss army knife. I worked it out Pop the blade as the noise of the feeding

slowed as the awful meat spider shredded its fill from one of his victims I eased a rusty blade to the webbing and began to soar it was like cutting through canvas the web behind me instantly began to slacken splitting apart losing its tension as

oh god oh no the meat spider lunged drenched in still hot blood moving with that deliberate speed afforded only to creepy crawlies. It was coming for me, arms and legs pumping, its misshapen form throbbing with terrible heat.

I worked the Swiss army knife harder, faster, hacking away blindly, hatcheting apart the web holding me captive. And I could smell it. Oh God, the reek of ancient rot, of things dead and decayed and hate, and it was here. Oh God, it was here. The meat spider

lunged. For a terrifying instant All I saw were eyes and teeth. There was a horrible intelligence in those eyes, an awful cunning that reminded me so much of the dead-eyed stare of serial killers in court.

Then the web split beneath me And I fell. A second later And I would have been dead meat. Instead, I was tumbling down, plummeting like a stone, the ground black and solid and rushing toward me.

It slammed into me like a freight train, and I crumbled like a bird. It wasn't solid ground. It was an angry rush of water. A river tumbled and heaved through a rocky canyon, the rapids frost like a rabid dog, whipping me around like a ragdoll in the hands of a brat. I snapped this way and that, barking my arms and legs and brains off the lips of rock that seemed to bite out at me. Water that reeked of rotten gasoline and the thousands of dead things. that had washed away flooded my mouth, filled my lungs.

I choked and fought and tumbled downstream, until blackness expanded. I awoke in a drain pipe to the first light of dawn. It painted strange shapes on the curved concrete bore in which I was delivered. I folded over and vomited a warm spray of water. A thin trickle ran from the darkness of the pipe, issuing through my hands, hair,

flushing me with sobriety. That darkness repulsed me, made my skin ache and crawl with nausea. I staggered toward the light, fought my way out into a rocky shore. Seagulls were hunking angrily, fighting over a scrap and meat on the beach. The other seabirds twisted through the foggy air above grey waters. The ocean heaved at my feet. I looked up at the sky and cried. A trucker found me, limping along the highway like an abyss.

abused dog. I didn't strug them when he dragged me to the car. I collapsed limply into his arms and let myself be taken. He rushed me to the nearest hospital. I found out I was 80 miles from grandmas. I'm in a sterile white place now. A hospital that reminds me so much of that underground nightmare of things that should never see the light of day. I started this account, hoping he would bring me peace, hoping it would help me come to terms with the trauma I faced. It hasn't helped at all. The police are still looking for the hatch and for Sammy's body. It's been two days and they found neither. I was hoping normality would return, would burn away the nightmares that have haunted me ever since I've been back. But it hasn't. When I shut my eyes,

I see things. Things I'd seen out of the corners of my eyes in those padded rooms. unspeakable horrors that belong not in this world, but in a place far beyond it. God save them. It's an empty platitude, but it's all I can offer. God save them.