CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "These mysterious notes keep appearing, asking me to pay a fine" Creepypasta

Episode Date: February 1, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Thomas_Diaz: 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►Nikola Yordanov: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/nQWE6SUGGESTED 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-

I'm aftar. For the maids, they're two-hour faster. Doy! Toadam? With Eurocity direct, though? 16 times per day from out Brussels and in two-hour. Now, from 19 euros in place of 25. Book you tickets on NMBSInternational.com.

The festival season is aangboken, and that bettickens, and so, came Kim to Amazon.com.com. On look to a waterdict tent, a comfortable luget, oh, so, knus. And Lupeartprint regalards. Now, Kim has Kim has kind of the modder just like him Oh, he's just even, only modder on?

Oh yeah, only mudder. Drogoldiv? Goar for. Find what you need to have on Amazon.com.com. I've been in construction my whole working life. I started straight out of school 10 years ago and I spent much of that time on the move. Not a lot of people know this,

but when the job ends, craft workers are mostly, laid off. Pipfitters, carpenter's, all gone. That means we need to pick up our tools and head to a different job site, hoping to get hired back on. Since the money is good, that's what I do. It's the life I've always known. Every few years, I just travel from one side of the country to the other, hoping to find work. After my last job ended, which was about a week ago, I received word from my old boss that his oil company was hiring. He said that since I was a good worker, I was just hired, just show up and get to work, told him to give me a few days and I'll be there as soon as I could. As for the location, it was in some small town out in Illinois called Brookfield. I'd never heard of the place before, but that was nothing new. Most plants are built in the middle of nowhere. This is in case they explode, The loss of life would be minimal compared to the same disaster in a city.

The next morning, I packed up my stuff and started driving. On the road, I called and spoke to some guy named Trevor over the phone. I'd found him on Craigslist. He was renting a room, and the price was about what I wanted to pay. Ha, I'd love to have you. Through the phone, his voice sounded jovial. I'll get some clean sheets on that bed and an extra set of blankets. It gets a little chilly this time of year.

Oh, sir, thank you so much, I'll see you want to get there, I said. After driving for about ten hours, I finally arrived at Brookfield, and it was... Nothing like how I expected. I've been to some rundown towns before, but this one right here. Their downtown could have easily been made into a setting for the walking dead. Most of the buildings I drove past, looked either abandoned, some had girders

like exposed ribs, like broken in the streets, one place that might have once been a gift shop, looked like it had just burned down the night before. Parts of the blackened wood was still smouldering. The only building I saw that were intact were a police station and a waffle house.

Also, directly in the centre of the town, there was a random graveyard. Not a freshly-y-oed lawn and neat tombstones set of regular intervals. This one had crosses, the kind made from two sticks roped together, buried in the muddy soil. Mountains of dirt sat next to freshly dug graves. Trees, their limbs twisted and gnarled, were scattered throughout the area, casting misshapen shadows. One of them even had a noose hanging from one of its branches. It swayed gently back and forth.

I couldn't help but wonder if some kids had put it up there as some sort of sick joke, or if it was meant as a threat. A threat for whom I had no idea. Swallowing around the tightness in my throat, I continued on, followed the GPS of my phone, and arrived at the place listed. Trevor was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a handwritten note taped to the door. It read, Sam, sorry, something came up, something that I got to take care of, just hold on to the rent for a few

days, I'll collect it as soon as I get back, keys in the potted plant, head on in and make yourself at home, Trevor. There was an arrow at the bottom, drawn in Sharpie, pointing down and to the left. I wouldn't exactly have called the object beneath a potted plant. More accurately, I would have said, said that it was a pot of a cobwebbed and a small, a small, sticking out of the centre.

I jerked a shoulder, dug the key out of the dirt, and did as the paper said. The next morning, as I made myself a pot of coffee in the kitchen, I found myself studying the pictures on the wall, and the elderly gentleman who featured in a number of them. I assumed this was Trevor. In one picture he was fishing, in a picture he was fishing, in a number of them. In another, he was at a pinawomeni, swinging at a kind face, in every photograph.

I thought that once I met the guy, we'd probably get along nicely. After pouring my cup of Joe, I headed outside, ready to leave for work, when I saw something on my windshield. There was an envelope placed under my wiper. Confused, I collected the envelope, pulled the paper. route and read it. It said, I had been fined $100. Literally, it said, you have been fined $100. No explanation. What's more, it was written on a normal sheet of wide rule, loose leaf paper in red crown. Listed on the bottom of the paper was an address where I was supposed to mail the cash, check or

money order. What the hell was this? I thought to myself. flipping the back. It had to be a prank, so I shrugged, it landed on the backseat, then I went to my new job site where I worked as a crane operator. Most of the day I was up in the cab transporting steel. It's a hard, lonely life, but I was okay with that. It was good money. I didn't even mind. the fact that I'd just carry a bottle. High up in the cab, milling about, their jobs, flagging, sanding and pipe-laying. Since it took me 30 minutes to climb out of the crane, most were already gone home by the time I got down. As for that odd note,

I wanted to mention it to my old boss, ask him if he'd ever heard of it, but it seemed like he hadn't come in that day. So I just got on with things, finished for the day and went home. The following morning, I went out to my car. All of the windows had been busted out. The windshield looked like somebody had taken a sledgehammer to it. To say that I was furious is an understatement. What the hell? I said to no one, throwing my arms wide, approaching my vehicle. Once again, The wiper was another envelope.

This one read, Warning, fine, Pay, or you will be sent home. Of all the things I've been through in my life, this was probably the weirdest. Especially bizarre that I hadn't heard the glass shatter last night. Surely, I thought,

I would have heard it, considering I was a light sleeper and my bedroom window was only a few feet from my car, Fuelled with anger, I crumbled up the letter. I wanted to blame Trevor for this, but the guy hadn't come back home yet. I was the only one here last night, so if it wasn't him, then who was leaving these fines? Still mad, I removed what was left of the windshield, got in my car, and drove to the address listed on the sheet. In my opinion, this type of behaviour warranted an asswapping, and I was ready to give it.

But, when I got to the location, it was not exactly what I had been expecting. It was the damn graveyard in the centre of town. My blood chilled as I slowed the car to a stop. The eeriness of the situation made the hair on my arms stand on end and a twinge of nausea twist in my gut. I didn't know what to do, so I stared to the emptiness where my windshield would have been for a few minutes, gaze wandering across the grave markers. Eventually, eventually, I got myself together. The police station was across the street, so that was where I went. It was convenient, considering I needed

to fill out a police report to file to my insurance anyway. Inside the station, I found a fit middle-aged police officer standing behind a wooden desk. The officer typed away at his computer. How can I help you? I put the envelope down at the desk. Yeah, well, I got this fine and... Silence fell across the entire police station. Behind him, every head in the room swiveled in my direction. Concern, coloured all their faces.

Some hoffed out worried breaths. Others quickly returned their attention to their papers, scribbling fast, avoiding eye contact with me. One guy looked angry. like you wanted to kick my ass. The officer swallowed. And, where did you find it? Somebody my car. His eyes widened as some type of realization flashed across his face. His hand bounced, knocking on the wood. What is it? I asked, feeling my heart rate elevate. That nausea surged again. He cleared his throat. He patted the throat. He patted the envelope on the desk and slid it back to me. What is your name, son?

He asked. Sam, Sam Chavez. He nodded. Well, Sam, I'm going to need you to pay this. What? You're going to have to pay this. I don't understand. The man leaned forward with a hard stare. His hand landed on his gun. Is there a problem here? What the hell? I swallowed. I swallowed. regain my composure. Well, can I just give you the cash then?

No, he said. I was so lost. Well, uh, why the hell not? Because you have to mail it in. What? You get in loud with me, boy. I blinked, huh? Pay the fine.

Now get the hell out of here before I put you behind bars. I'll be clear. Leaving the police station. I was so confused. I was actually scratching the back of my head. This was so insane that I didn't know what else to do. I needed something, answers or anything, or at least to find out who was doing this. I tried calling my old boss to ask him for some advice. No answer. I even tried calling Trevor. Same. So I drove 50 miles and out of town and stopped at a Walmart. There, I picked up an outdoor nest camera and then headed back to my place. After setting up the camera, I installed the app on my phone and paid the subscription service to actively record all movements. Then, I fell asleep. That night, around 3 a.m., my phone buzzed, alerting me that there was motion outside.

Half awake, I clicked open the app. and saw a truck pulled a stop in the driveway. I recognised the man, I'd seen, I knew it was Trevor. He slammed his door and made his way into the house. I considered talking to him, introducing myself,

but the guy was probably tired. It was 3am after all, so I closed out the app and went back to sleep. That morning, as I came out of my bedroom, I saw something in the hall that made me freeze. . I was almost sure.

It had that smell. A trail of splatters led to the kitchen. I followed. There, I found Trevor. He was lying on the kitchen counter. Chest cracked open like an alien had burst out of it. Rib spread, viscera scattered all over the tile and sink. His face was twisted in horror

His mouth wide open His lips stretched in a silent howl of agony In his hand was an envelope That I was all too familiar with For some reason It was the cleanest thing in the kitchen There wasn't a speck of blood on it The letter hung down low

Angled so that the wording faced me It read This is the cast fighting, either a nervous breakdown, I staggered back, up on the floor. I sucked in a huge breath, trying to force myself to calm down, but I couldn't hold it against the next rush of vomit, and I spewed the rest of my dinner onto the kitchen floor. Coughing and gasping, I wiped my mouth of the back of my hand and scrambled away from

the body. After gathering what little rationality I had left, I fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed those three numbers. 911, What's your emergency? said the lady, the last, I took a deep breath.

The air still smelled of blood and vomit. I... My roommate, he's... He's dead. What's the address? 212 Silver... 212 Silver Lake Drive. A man is dead.

Her voice sounded terse. Maybe. even annoyed. Yes, how did you? This is why, she said, click. So I made in a check that night, and got the hell out of dodge. I'm used to living on the move, but I've never packed up so quickly. I left the body just lying there as I cleared out. Someone else's problem. I'd had enough for this. Screw with that creepiest town, the job and that damn graveyard. I drove all night heading for my parents' house where I knew they had my old bedroom waiting. I didn't want to wake them, so when I got there, I used my spare key to let myself in. Something was waiting

for me at my old bedroom door. My blood froze. Scotch taped to the wood. Was a note. Same familiar. handwriting, and I realised, and I'd made a all along, the notes had been delivered to Trevor's house. Trevor had been the one to die. Perhaps whoever, whatever, had sent those finds. They hadn't meant any of it for me. But now I had the retention. The note read, "'who are you?' "'I pushed the door open. "'I was just tired.

"'I didn't know what to do. "'What the hell I'd cutten myself into. "'I had the idea that I could just collapse into bed, "'figure something out later. "'Inside, the walls, the bed, the desk, "'all of them were plastered with hundreds of wide-rule, "'loose-leaf paper. "'Who are you?'

demanded, who are you, who are you?