CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "We Thought The Quiet Kid Was Just a Weirdo. Then We Found His Basement" Creepypasta

Episode Date: April 16, 2025

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I wouldn't say we were evil, just bored. 18 years old, first semester of college, too cocky for our own good. Me and Derek mostly kept to ourselves. We weren't jocks or frat types. We just liked messing with people. And Jeremy was easy. He sat in the front row every class, always took perfect notes, didn't talk to anyone, Like, literally, not once did I hear the guy make small talk, even with professors.

Just walked in with that same weird little leather notebook, eyes forward, no phone, no ear buds. Who does that? It was like he was lopping as a 1950s honors student. Plus, there was something about him that rubbed people the wrong way. Not that they ever said it out loud. But everyone knew he was off. Like he didn't understand how other people worked.

He never got sarcasm, never reacted to jokes. If you bumped into him in the hallway and said, my bad. He'd just stare at you like he was trying to decide what species you were. He was rich too. That didn't help. His parents owned Hartley Biologics, this huge farmer lab that basically funded half the scholarships on campus. They'd billboards all over town with pictures of babies and smiling doctors, clean white

font, soft lighting, innovation from molecule to miracle. Jeremy didn't act like a rich kid though. No flashy clothes, no car. He wore the same beat-up brown hoodie almost every day. Derek and I started off small. just dumb things, swapping out his pens, hiding his bag during lunch, calling him weird and embarrassing nicknames. He never said a word back. He didn't even look at us half the time. Just kept walking, notebook clutched to his chest like it was worth more than his spine.

That annoyed Derek more than anything. The way Jeremy acted like we weren't even there, It was Derek's idea to check his locker, said it was a social service, whatever the hell that meant. Mostly, we were just bored between classes and Jeremy was always gone for lunch, probably hiding somewhere with that stupid notebook of his scribbling equations or drawing alchemy symbols or whatever weird stuff he was into. The lockers weren't even locked. There were those old metal ones with a padlock loop. but most people just used the built-in latch.

Jeremy's was wet shut with a pencil eraser. Like, he really thought that would keep anyone out. Derek popped it open with a single pull. Inside, books, all stacked perfectly. Notebooks, a couple of protein bars in a Ziploc, no decorations, nothing to allude to the fact that a human was using this locker. It looked more like a filing cabinet. What kind of psycho keeps a locker this clean?

Derek muttered, flipping through a binder. Does he sleep in here too? I was the one who found the paper, folded and tucked behind a textbook. Looked like a grocery list at first, but then I opened it up and realized it was directions. Turn left at the red house, into the tree line, walking. until you see the broken fence past the creek, wooden cabin north facing door. Just that, and at the bottom scribbled several times. Make sure not to forget, Derek leaned over my shoulder and squinted.

Dude, what the hell? I grinned. Told you he was up to something. Derek took the paper and held it like it was radioactive. You think this is like... where he goes to play wizard or something. Who knows what that kind of kid gets up to in his little hideout in the woods, man?

Derek snorted, weird little freak. We were still laughing about it while we walked into Kim lecture. Jeremy was already there. Front row, as always, writing something in that ugly brown notebook. We slid into the row behind him. Hey, Jeremy.

me, Derek whispered. No response. You forget something. Jeremy didn't turn around, just kept writing. I tapped the back of his chair with my foot. We found your directions, man. You know, red house, broken vents, secret elf cabin. What's out there, your moon crystal?

He froze, pen mid-stroke. His shoulders locked up. and for a second I thought he might actually say something. Derek leaned in, voice louder. What do you even have in there that's so important? He reached over and snatched the notebook out of Jeremy's hands. Jeremy spun around, eyes wide. Don't, he started, but Derek already had opened it.

He flipped to a random page and squinted. This hummunt. Humunner... Dude, what is this? This homunculus has shown prom... Jeremy screamed. Not yelled. Screamed.

High and sharp, like we just lit him on fire. He lunged forward and ripped the notebook from Derek's hands so fast, and nearly tore in half. Derek toppled over, and Jeremy just turned and ran out of the room, clutching it to his chest like a, wounded animal. Everyone in the room went silent. I felt the heat in my face. Jeremy had, by all means, just embarrassed us. Derek sat there for a second, jaw slack.

Then he blinked and said, did he seriously just do that to us? I shrugged. Guess we hit a nerve. He looked at me. Then at the door Jeremy had vanished through. Dude, I said, let's go to his little hideout. Derek frowned. What? Yeah, let's see what he was so adamant to hide from us, I said confidently. The walk started off easy. Once we spotted the red house, a little squat place with peeling paint and a rusted mailbox.

We turned left like the direction said and stepped into the tree line. branches curled overhead, thin and brittle. Everything underfoot was damp, patches of old leaves and broken twigs, all softened by rot. It wasn't raining, but the air had weight to it, heavy with moisture, cold too, an early autumn kind of cold.

We followed the directions carefully, as carefully as we could from my memory, and Derek's groans. The path got clearer the deeper we went. At first, I thought we were just making good time. But then I realized the ground had been worn down. Something or someone had been walking this way a lot. The grass was crushed flat, no fresh prints.

But the path was obvious. Fifteen minutes in, we spot. It parted it through the trees. The cabin. It sat hunched at the edge of a shallow clearing. Small, weathered, crooked just enough to make your head tilt. A single square window at the front clouded with grime. Derek slowed down behind me.

This the place? I didn't hesitate. You see any other cabins nearby? The door wasn't locked. I pushed on it, and the hinges gave a low, drawn-out creek. Inside, it was dark. No windows on the sides, or, if there were any, they were blocked off. We clicked on our flashlights and stepped in.

Jeremy, Derek called. You home? No response. The air was stale, and the cabin would. one room, mostly empty. It was a wooden shelf against the left wall, lined with a few closed boxes. A workbench beneath the window, scratched and stained, but white clean. An old sink in the corner, a kind with a hand pump. Well, nothing in here looks fun, Derek muttered, shining his light across the floorboards. I was about to respond when my beam landed.

on something at the back of the room. A square cut into the floor, barely visible from the way the boards lined up, and a heavy iron-runged trap door set within the hinges and a recessed handle. I stepped closer. There were scuff marks around the edge, some smudges of dirt and other details that made it easy to assume that this hatch was used frequently. Derek stepped up beside me and whistled low. Guess this is where the real freak show starts.

I reached down and pulled the handle and listened as the door opened. Cold air drifted up from below. The hatch opened with more effort than I expected. My arm shook by the time it finally gave. The air that came up wasn't foul, but it was cold and dripped. with a faint hint of chemicals I couldn't name. We stared down into the narrow stairwell.

Wood at first, then concrete. No railing. The flashlight beam stretched just far enough to catch the bottom steps. Derek hesitated behind me. Are we even sure this is his cabin? He asked. You really going to act scared now? Who else?

What else would it belong to, I said as I stepped down. Each step creaked and flexed under my weight. Once we had the concrete section, the sound changed. Less groaning wood, more hollow echo. At the bottom, the passage flattened out. We stopped in front of a steel door, tall and wide enough to belong in a fallout shelter. had no markings, just a bolt lock across the centre and a long horizontal handle beneath it. I slid the bolt free.

The metal resisted. It squeaked halfway, then gave. I raised my voice. Jeremy, come out, freak. It echoed down the hall behind us and disappeared. No reply. I looked at Derek, and the best words he could muster up were a shrug and a dumb expression. I gripped the handle and pulled.

The space beyond wasn't big, but it was dense, maybe 20 feet across, maybe more. The flashlight beams skated over cold surfaces, steel counters, scuff tile, tall metal shelving units packed tight with containers and glassware. beakers and clips adorned the area. None of it looked abandoned. The dust was minimal. The floor was clean. This place had been used recently, maybe even today.

There were two doors at the far end of the room. Plain, no labels. My eye caught a set of glass cylinders built into the side wall. Some empty, others too murky to see inside. one of them held something pale, or maybe just sediment. Derek stepped beside me. Does this not look like a lab? He said.

I nodded slowly. I guess it kind of does. We walked further in, boots soft on the tile, flashlights cutting through the dim, and still, no sign of Jeremy anywhere. We approached the two doors on the other side and chose the door on the right. It wasn't locked, just a pushplate and handle.

The hinges groaned as it opened and our lights fell into the room beyond. It was colder in there. In the centre of the room stood a surgical table, stainless steel, tilted slightly, fitted with shoulder restraints and a dark drain beneath it. A folded towel sat at the edge, stiff with something dry and reddish brown. To my left was a tray of instruments, scalples, clamps, scissors, neatly arranged, all clean. IV bags hung from an aluminium stand in the corner. Two of them were full. Another lay collapsed on the floor.

the table was a surgical lamp with three segmented arms, frozen mid-adjustment, aimed down as if expecting someone. At this point, we both knew we were in a place, we had no business being in there, but we had gone too far to turn back. Neither of us wanted to wuss out. Derek moved closer to the stack of boxes. His parents really let him play scientists in the woods. I looked around the room and said,

It does look like some extreme kind of roleplay to me. Derek went quiet for a second, then. Dude, I can't wait to tell everybody about this. Especially now that, I said, as I moved closer to the stack of boxes Derek was standing next to, they were cardboard and stamped in blue. Hartley Biologics. Derek saw them too.

His flashlight hovered over the logo for a second. We know we have the right person. Derek gave out a half-hearted chuckle and turned back to the hallway. Let's check the other room. Maybe that's where he is. The second door was heavier than the first. I had to lean my shoulder into it to get it moving. The hinges protested the hallway.

We stepped in. The first thing I noticed was the glow, a soft green light humming from the far wall. It cast everything in a low aquatic haze, flickering faintly with movement. Rows of tall cylindrical pods line the walls, maybe eight feet in height, two feet across. Each one was filled with a thick liquid, not water, something heavier, Slightly viscous, almost gelatinous the way it moved. Shapes floated inside them. Some small, some large, all of them indistinct bloated silhouettes.

I couldn't tell if they were alive or just suspended there. Some were curled in on themselves, others just hung. A few parts were empty. One was cracked. I stepped closer, watching the surface of the liquid as it rippled faintly beneath the green light. Derek stood behind me, silent. I muttered more to myself than anything. Now this doesn't look like roleplay.

Maybe this actually belongs to his parents, Derek quipped. We didn't hear it right away. The room hummed with low power. not machinery exactly, just the background noise of his system still alive. Shuffling. From the far end, just beyond the last row of pods. Slow at first, like something dragging across the floor. A wet movement, almost muffled.

We stopped. Jeremy, Derek called out. His voice echoed against me. metal and glass. We know you're there. No response. The shuffling continued, like it knew where it was going,

accompanied by a low rustling, almost moist sound, something between breathing and licking. We began walking toward it, running on nothing but pure, unadulterated confidence. A flashlight shook a little in our hands. Derek's beam flickered, stuttered, then steadied again.

The sound grew clearer. Now, it was easy to identify the sounds of scratching, licking and breathing. I stopped walking. My throat was dry. I could sense something was wrong. Jeremy? I whispered. Still nothing.

But the noise didn't see. stop. It was coming closer. Still no footsteps. I raised my flashlight a little, focusing toward the back row of pods where the green glow was weakest. Then, something moved. It came from around the far side of one of the large cylinders. I thought it was a person crouched low to the ground, crawling. but then it rose. My flashlight caught the shape full on. I froze and it did as well. It stood upright but barely.

Its spine bowed forward, forcing the thing into a permanent hunch. The legs were too long, digit-degrade like a dog's, with tendons visible under paper-thin skin. Feats played wide. Four toes, clawed. Human in shape, but not in function. The arms hung low, longer than they should have been. Fingers ending in nails, they looked more like cracked hooves than claws.

Its skin was uneven, mottled grey and pale brown, dry in some spots and slick in others, like parts of it had dried out while the rest kept growing. Tufts of coarse hair clung to the back of its neck and spine, patchy and unclean. One shoulder looked almost normal, human muscle, familiar shape, but the other was swollen, bunched with asymmetrical tissue, a mass that pulled slightly when it moved. Its face was pointed, stretched forward into a narrow snout, but not quite long enough to be animal. The skin there was tight, almost translucent, pulled too hard across a skull that didn't match.

Its eyes were white set and cloudy, rimmed in red. There were no eyelids. And then the jaw opened, not down, but out. The skin around its mouth split in four directions, revealing a dark gullet and rows of teeth that spiraled inward, rather than back. It sniffed the air once, quick and shallow. Then it came at us. Derek screamed as it collided with him,

knocking him backward into the side of a table. He hit the floor hard, flashlight scattering across the tiles. The thing dropped on top of him, hands slapping the ground for balance, mouth opened wide enough to split the skin at the corners. I didn't think. I just grabbed the nearest thing I could find.

A metal rod leaned against the wall and swung it at the creature's side. The hit landed and it shrieked, not high-pitched, deep. It rolled off Derek and stumbled sideways, knocking into one of the pods as it flailed. The glass cracked. Then gave way. Green liquid spilled across the floor, thick and slow. Something inside the pod hit the ground with a heavy slap, curled, pale, twitching.

It looked like a combination of an anteater and a human. It twitched again, then moved, arms dragging its body forward, like it didn't understand how joints were supposed to work. Derek scrambled to his. his feet. His shirt was torn, shoulder bleeding. We turned toward the hallway, but another pod cracked, then another. Hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the glass, and one of the smaller ones burst outright, releasing something lean and fast that landed in a crouch and

snapped his head toward us. Then it sprinted. We ran. The first one grabbed at Derek's ankles, nearly dragging him down. I turned and swung the rod again, catching its arm with a solid thud. It didn't scream that time, almost like it was getting used to the sensation. Derek kicked himself free, and we bolted across the room,

knocking over trays, kicking carts, anything to slow them down. Behind us, another pot exploded. More liquid, more movement. Derek tripped as we hit the edge of the room. His foot caught on a cable or a pipe. I couldn't tell, and he went down hard, arms out to catch himself. I spun around, grabbed his jacket and started yanking him up.

But one of the things was already there. It came from the side, fast and low, hands slapping the tile. Its skin had a stretched, waxed, waxed. He looked to it, thin hair spouting from its scalp in random clumps. It didn't look at me, just grabbed Derek's leg and started pulling backward with sharp, jerking motions, like a dog trying to tear off a limb. Derek howled. I dropped the flashlight, gripped the rod in both hands, and slammed it down across the thing's arm.

It didn't let go. It just hissed, turned its head to me with that split-chored grin. We were right next to the door. I dropped the rod and grabbed Derek with both arms, dug my heels in and pulled. We moved maybe afoot, but that was all we needed. I let go of Derek, then grabbed the door and shoved it open. The creature's grip didn't loosen. So I did.

the only thing I could. I grabbed the edge of the door and slammed it into its arm. Once, twice. On the third hit, I felt something give, a crunch of bone and cartilage. It let out a gurgling wheeze

and retracted fast, skittering back into the shadows and all fours. Derek crawled through. I followed, grabbed to the handle, and pulled the door shut behind us. The bolt barely slid in

before something slammed into the other side. We ran up the stairs, boots slapping against concrete, lungs burning. Behind us, the pounding started again, dull thuds against the steel. By the time we stumbled back onto the road, the sun was nearly gone.

The light was turning that strange colour it gets right before dusk. Everything was washed in grey, the trees casting long shadows across the pavement. I couldn't feel my legs anymore. Derek was limping, holding his side, and both of us were covered in dirt, blood, and something that smelled sour and metallic.

We didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. I didn't even know which road we were on, just that it wasn't the one we came in on. A hundred yards later, a small one-story house sat tucked behind a split rail fence. There was a man out front pushing a rusted mower across the patch of grass. He stopped when he saw us. At first he didn't move, just stared.

Then he turned the mower off and came towards us. You boys all right, he asked. then he took a better look at us. Come on. He brought us inside, sat us down at his kitchen table. Clean place. Smell like burnt coffee and old wood. He handed us a towel, then a phone.

When the dispatcher answered, I didn't tell them about the creatures. I didn't mention green fluid or split jaws. I just gave the address, told them we'd be. been attacked, told them someone needed to come fast. They said help was on the way. I hung up and finally looked at Derek. He hadn't stopped shaking. They came in under an hour, two cruises at first, then a full team once the officers got a good look at the place. We didn't go back to them. They told us to stay put. EMTs checked us over while more cars arrived. unmarked ones this time.

Waiter, I saw the footage on the news. They showed the cabin from the outside, lit up in blue and red, officers moving in and out. The anchor called it a disturbing discovery, said authorities were looking into a suspected, unauthorized research facility, connected to hardly biologics. What they didn't show. was the basement. I heard about it later during questioning. A steel door had been forced open.

Inside, they found a lab, just like we described. Operating table, surgical equipment, dozens of shattered pods. But no creatures. They questioned us for hours, separately, then together, and back and forth. Eventually, someone confirmed what we already knew. Jeremy had been picked up that night, found at home. Calm, cooperative, said he didn't know anything about a cabin. He was arrested, but no charges stuck, and everybody in the town knew why.

His family was already spinning the story before sunrise. I was in a hospital briefly. but they let me out the next morning. No broken bones, just bruises, a gash across my arm and a mild concussion. I walked out under my own power, but I didn't feel right. Couldn't tell if it was shock or something else. I didn't hear from Derek for days. He was still in the hospital.

Puncture wounds, fractured wrist, some nerve damage and a messed up anchor. He couldn't stand without help. They said it might take months for him to walk properly again. Might not ever be the same. I visited him once. He wouldn't look at me, just stared out the window and kept clicking the morphine button, even when I knew the dose had already maxed out. After that, I didn't go back.

A few days later, I got a call from the detective. who'd interviewed me the night of the raid. His tone was clipped, professional, almost tired. He told me the charges against Jeremy weren't moving forward, said the family had lawyers already working overtime, claimed we broke into private property, roughed up their son, trussed a remote site used for authorised research. Jeremy's statement said he'd been targeted, that we were jealous, that we fabricated, that we refabricated everything.

The official report mentioned structural damage and chemical residue, but no mention of anything that breathed, nothing about the pods, nothing about the bodies, not even a word, about the metal door. They buried it all.