CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "We Always Had Each Other's Backs. Now I Have To Watch Mine" Creepypasta

Episode Date: July 27, 2021

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by NewAgeSolution: 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►Juan Caparas: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/nq8yKSUGGESTED 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-

John tossed a can that I caught mid-air after asking him to get me one from the cooler. Thanks man, I said, nodding from my seat. Cut you back, bro, John replied. It was a getaway that five of us had been looking forward to for months. Although it meant our undergraduate years were over, we didn't think that would affect the closeness of our little click. How we met was something out of a movie. We were all in the same economics class and put together for a group project.

Our presentation wasn't spectacular, but we formed a tight-knit circle that made these last four years some of my most enjoyable. As a graduation present, our friend Chetstad rented us a gorgeous house in Arizona. It was recently close to Phoenix and landmarks like the Grand Canyon, very secluded and extremely spacious. We spent our first night hanging out in the backyard, enjoying the in-ground pool and jacuzzi. despite initially planning and bar hopping our second night, we ditch those plans and wind up drinking again at the house. Got you back was our cheesy trademark slogan originating from an inside joke

when Naomi and I literally saved Chet from bodily harm four times in one night. It was so prominent among us, Chet and Sophie, who've been dating since there were sophomores, even had it quoted on their graduation caps. Chet was going to get the phrase tattooed on his back right, shoulder, but why not getting his football number? My train of thought was interrupted by Chet, screaming, a proverbial, got your back phrase, followed by a loud clang.

My eyes darted toward the metal folding table we were using to play drinking games. Chet, who probably drank enough booze to kill a horse, literally reverse belly flopped onto the table. Chet's muscular frame was sprawled out across its narrow surface, his limbs limply hanging off the table's sides, while he blankly stared upwards with an ear-to-ear smile. I was surprised to see the table withstood the impact from Chet,

especially since its legs on the side where his left-libbing stangled were almost completely cracked in some parts. His drunk ass probably thought he was diving into the pool. Naomi muttered while fixing her blue highlighted black hair. I nodded in agreement.

Let him think that. Don't spoil it for him, I replied. Only wearing his bathing suit, Chet lay completely motionless on the table, his face showing no signs of consciousness. I give the boy credit, I added, looking at my phone. At least the night, he lasted past midnight. You know what the crazy part is? Naomi asked softly, as to not be heard. Chet's dad bought this place for him.

Almost choking on my drink, I glanced over at Chet's sprawled-out figure on top of the table. trying to fathom the type of parties he would throw at this house. On the contrary, I had reservations about an inept simpleton like Chet, who only got into a high school on a full right football scholarship, happily keeping up with his place's cleanliness and maintenance. How the hell did you find that out? I asked Naomi, who chuckled lightly. Chet doesn't know yet.

His dad told me and Sophie the other day. Chet owns this house right now, and he doesn't even realize it. I shook my head. People who have everything fall into their laps usually have a pretentious aura about them, but Chet was a rare exception. He did have a flashy materialistic side and was susceptible to gloating, but Chet's generosity, personality and loyalty to his friends was unparalleled. It was still hard to ignore that tinge of envy and resentment.

It did make this vacation more meaningful, I suppose, and Chet would undoubtedly make this place available to us whenever we wanted. Regardless of who had what, though, I'd always have cheds back, and knew he always had mine. For me, knowing that was most important about our friendship. The rest of that night was a blur. We drank by the pool until three or four in the morning. Sophie broke a bottle, something involving honey happened, and I puked in the garden. I know the night officially ended when Naomi slipped while running alongside the pool.

She might have been getting chased by someone, but my memory's fuzzy. I didn't even remember going to bed that night and was still drunk when I woke up the next day. After forcing myself to vomit, taking some headache pills and sleeping another hour, I finally emerged from my bedroom. This one might be worse than yesterday's, I said to John regarding my hangover,

who didn't even make it to his bed, and crashed on the living room couch. John just shrugged, remaining in his face down position until I plop down on his legs. The hell's the matter of it? with you, John whined as he squirmed violently and tried striking me with a pillow. Bro, it's hot out and I feel like crap.

I don't need that right now. I checked the temperature on my phone. It was 119 degrees. I could tell just by looking outside, the sun was blaring. I don't even think it's worth laying out by the pool. If we wind up salvaging any of this day, we should do something in Dorsy. I had to get something in the car and burn myself. when I touched the door. You could probably cook something in the hood right now. After

hydrating more, I made coffee and smoked a few bowls with John in the bathroom. Naomi popped in to join us while Sophie started cooking brunch. I need the tongs for the bacon, Sophie said while rummaging through the cabinets. Does anyone know where they are? Who's got my back here? They're starting to burn. Lower the flame then? John replied sarcastically, while we vegetated on the couch. As Chet, he knows where everything is. He was wasted last night, I said, causing everyone to chuckle. Is he still passed out?

Sophie shrugged, saying she slept in the bathroom and came straight downstairs after waking. Sophie eventually found the tongues and finished cooking, after which she went upstairs to conduct a welfare check on Chet. When she said he wasn't in the bedroom, we all giggled while pondering Chet's words. whereabouts. The giggles and goofy smiles, however, faded upon realizing Chet had been outside all night and day in this blazing heat. Between sovish shrill, hysterical screams and sight

of Chet's body when we went outside, it was a moment forever embedded in my mind. Chet resembled a bloated, overcooked roast. His raw, inflamed skin had a reddish pink tint, was littered with sores, blisters and stings, whose surface had a blotching, milty texture, appearing like he became infused with the table. Upon drawing closer, we heard the buzzing of flies and bees swarming Chet, around the honey smeared across his bare chest that still bubbled

or was reduced to scorch, crusty, dark amber patches. That's right. I remembered as my stomach sank. We poured honey all over Chet while he was passed out on the table. I think it might have been my idea. Remarkably, Chet was somehow alive. He slowly opened his bulging, bloodshot eyes that helplessly stared at us while making a series of weak, raspy grunts. Aside from Sophie, who fell into hysterics,

we all stood and stared in disbelief for those first few moments, not even being affected by the sun's beating rays. John was the first to act, and had me help move the canopy tent over Chet so he'd be out of the sun. While Sophie ran inside to dial 9-1-1, Naomi gathered towels strewn about the backyard that she soaked in the pool to put over Chet's torch body.

In between murmurs over whether we should give Chet water and hollow reassurances he would be okay, John pointed out the table was slanted, having been placed on top of the table. two uneven sections of concrete. We grabbed a pool towel to protect our hands or moving the table on more level ground. The towels hissed as their dampened surfaces contacted the metal table's brawling surface that was significantly hotter than the actual temperature. Although the towels only provided momentary relief from the table's fiery surface, we started moving the table.

When those cracked, rusted legs on the side, where Chet's left limbs still hung, both snapped. The table's left side dropped about 40 to 50 degrees, taking John and I totally off guard. In that split second, it happened. What I can only describe as a squishy, tearing sound filled our ears, which was Jed's body, detaching from the table. I use the term detach because the skin covering his entire back remained plastered on the table, like egg or pancake batter stuck to an unbuttered frying pan. Chet rolled off the table and landed on his stomach, whose cooked discolored back muscles and outline of his spine were completely exposed.

Chet used what strength he had to weakly emit a hiss-like scream that did little justice in personifying the agony he was experiencing. While John screamed and clenched handfuls of his hair, as Naomi rushed over with a dampened towels, I fell into a light-hearted trance, feeling on the verge of losing consciousness as I watched Chet squirm and twitch in such a disturbingly unnatural manner. I looked at the broken table surface, most of which was matted with a thin layer of dark, pinkish-baged skin that indicated where Chet had been laying. My stomach twisted after spotting the skin that was on the back of Chet's right shoulder, where the impression of his football number tattoo was visible through the fleshy membrane. I stared until Naomi covered Chet's body with dampen towels.

All we could do was stand around and try to keep Chet engaged, while giving him empty promises everything would be alright, until help arrived. When paramedics lifted Chet, who was front side, he didn't realize they got stuck to the ground. The skin over his chest and abdomen also tore off, remaining cemented on the spot where he'd been laying. I didn't see, but knew when it happened. Chet summoned enough strength to release a raucous, piercing holler that we all heard. Hitting a pitch, I didn't even think humans could reach. That was the last time any other saw Chet.

Although the doctors, who said this was the worst case of sunburn they ever saw, didn't expect him to survive. He overcame those stifling odds, but nowhere near the same. I learned Chet was horribly disfigured and spent over two years recovering. before being placed and assisted living. Although no charges were ever pressed, his parents forbade us from ever contacting their son. We were supposed to have each other's backs, one of us would always say,

whenever that weekend came up in conversation. We didn't have his that night. Two years passed. John, Naomi and I were renting a house, still living in our college town. Despite still being haunted by memories of that awful weekend, staying together helped us cope. Nobody ever admitted it, but a smothering sense of guilt kept us from moving on with our lives.

I guess for us, it felt like serving a sort of penance for our purported role in Chet's ghastly miss her. Sophie, who blamed everyone else for what happened, cut ties with all of us, and moved back to her home state. What about most upsetting was she never spoke to Chet again, abandoning him during his utmost time of need? It was a late summer weekend, I remember. not too long after the second anniversary of that horrible day. John and I were watching television, waiting on the water for our spaghetti to boil. Did you hear about Sophie? John asked, looking up from his phone.

I turned towards him and shook my head. She disappeared over the weekend. Some of her sorority sisters posted about it online. I sighed. This really wasn't much of a surprise. I knew Sophie would be. reject any attempts at reaching out, but always hoped she would gain closure and live a best life. Tragically, this wasn't the case. A few friends of mine who still talked to her

said Sophie wasn't doing well. She struggled with drugs and mental health issues, couldn't hold a job, spent time in rehab and was even briefly institutionalised. Shortly after, Naomi pulled in, whose car headlights shone through the living room's bay windows. We agreed. not to say anything about Sophie, figuring she was better off finding out on her own. A few minutes passed, during which I caught up to check the water. While entering the kitchen, John asked if I could get him a beer. I got your... I paused after flipping the kitchen lights on to stop myself from saying what was now a

debut quote in our household. I got you, bro. Standing in front of the fridge, I pursed my lips in frustration. All our beverages. were in the garage fridge. This made me remember I was supposed to put Naomi's beer in that same fridge earlier this evening, but totally forgot. She was already annoyed with me for some deadly embarrassing things I said in front of a boyfriend the other night.

I was trying to make amends, but wasn't after a good start. Grabbing Naomi's lukewarm case, I raced at the garage, immediately noticing the door was partly open and expected to hear an irate Naomi begin ranting about me failing to do the sim. simplest task. After hopping off the single step, however, I slipped on something as soon as my foot touched the floor. My head hit the ground hard, which put me in a disorienting days. Grunting while sitting up, I ran my palm over the back of my head, growing uneasy when I saw it was smeared with blood. The pounding in the back of my head and sporadically blowing vision told me

this was a pretty serious wound. Dreading a potential hospital visit, I slowly saw that. stood up, during which I spotted the culprit. A soaking wet bathroom mat. I grabbed the sopping wet mat while searching for the garage light, but froze after noting a slimy, leathery feel. I almost tumbled again after turning on the light, this time out of sheer terror. Naomi hung from a hock and chain, impaled to a jaw

that was wrapped around some ceiling pipes. She stared blankly up at the ceiling. ceiling, her wide, glossy eyes showing no signs of life. Naomi's stroby-pont hair and clothes were covered with blood that streaked down a body and dripped onto a sloppy pall of entrails. As Naomi's dangling body slowly rotated, her entire back was revealed to be violently butchered, whose innards had been pulled out through the gaping hole, covering much of a lumbar region.

My grip tightened on the bath mat. I couldn't make a move or sound after catching a clearer glimpse of a distorted face. Naomi, I quickly remembered, didn't have blonde hair. This wasn't her hanging in the garage. Sophie. This was Sophie. Looking away from the heinous scene, I glanced at the soaked bath mat in my hand still clutched. Yelping, I flung and scrambled away from it,

realizing I wasn't holding a mat or towel, but a large flap of skin. Sophie's entire back, which was what a lot of. caused my slip. Overcome with panic, I screamed out for John or frantically wiping my blooded hands on my clothes. John didn't respond, as I stumbled back into the house, trying to battle the simultaneous effects of my head injury and growing nausea. I ran into John as he came down the stairs, who was taken by surprise as I frantically tried to usher him towards the front door, while screaming we had to leave immediately.

What the hell's wrong with you? John barked as he tried holding me in place. What's going on? Where's Naomi? I just heard her come in. Is she okay? Unsure, if John noticed my injury or bladed clothes, I kept repeating we had to leave and call the police. When John didn't respond, I noticed he became transfixed on something in the kitchen. The lights were now off, which, through my fuzzy memory, I explicitly remembered turning on moments earlier. I then spotted what had John frozen in trepidation.

The outlines of two dark figures. One appeared to be standing while the other lay sprawled out on the floor in front of the stove and was making these awkward, nudge-like movements. Without saying anything, John flipped one of the light switches he stood next to, which illuminated the kitchen. Those two figures reveal themselves to be a topless, broad-shouldered individual, and nude woman I immediately recognized as Naomi. Breaking out into painful screams when the lights turned on, Naomi lay face down with knives,

stabbed deeply through the feet and hands of her outstretched limbs, pinning her to the kitchen's wooden floor. The skin running down her entire back was pulled apart in two flaps, resembling an open book. Naomi's spine, rib cage and some of her organs were visible. The sight strongly resembling what happened to an old friend years earlier. After recognising the symbolic significance of Naomi's, his skin back and mutilations on so his body, the larger, menacing individual's identity became

clear. It wasn't the mixed patches of raw, mottled, dark red and blotchy, artificial-looking, pinkish-white skin covering his hulking, topless torso and frail slim arms. There wasn't even the dark, greyish-brown scarring on his chest that vaguely resembled drizzle and smear marks. It was those large, bulging, bloodshot eyes, peering through a narrow opening and the tightly bound black cloth around his face that made me know it was Chet. His eyes still contained the same frenzied expression he had that day, only this time

they were filled with anger and resentment instead of fright and affliction. Chet took fast, deep, scratchy breaths, his hands forming tight fists as he stared at us with malice. I phased out John's murmurous screams and stood frozen, fearful Chet would react to the slightest gesture either of us made, while locking stairs with him, and detected other movement on the stove, which was when my heart sank. The pot of water we put on earlier was boiling ferociously. That was when Chet mumbled something out of earshot for me, which Sean seemed to hear, and in a single motion knocked the pot over, whose scorching hot water doused Naomi and a skinned

back. The loud, hissing sizzle and Nomi's ear-splitting screams filled my ears, as plumes of white steam permeated the kitchen and shrouding her and Chet. John and I took those seconds to bolt out of the house, knowing there was nothing we could have done for Naomi, whose screams followed us outside. Chet was long gone by the time the police arrived, who we contacted at her neighbours. Officers revealed the body hanging in our garage was in fact Sophie's.

As for Naomi, despite being rushed to the hospital, she died late at that night. I suffered a concussion. and nasty head wound from my fall that required stitches, which apparently knocked me out for five to ten minutes since John said that's how long I was gone before he briefly went up to his room. Detective said the intruder probably ambushed Naomi while she got out of a car and brought her inside when John went upstairs and I was in the garage.

The investigation revealed Sophie had been abducted days earlier but was already dead before getting strung up and gutted in our garage. It bothered me that Chet was probably more. mutilating Sovis' body or John and I watch television. I still cringe when I think about how close we could have been to suffering similar, gruesome fates, sometimes losing nights of sleep from obsessively conceiving an endless wave of what if scenarios about that night. Chet was never caught, who apparently escaped from the facility he lived at about a week before Sophie disappeared. John, who I was still roommates with, heard what Chet said before killing Naomi.

me. It was three haunting words that keep me on constant edge and a why I can't rest easy. Knowing Chet is still out there and can return to terrorise us at any moment. Watch. You're back.