CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "We Were Alone During the Amber Alert. Then I Looked Under the Bed" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 30, 2025

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saint ZanderCreepypastas 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 enough on the deep web" ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher, and...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creepypasta  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA 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 was 16 when it happened. I didn't talk about it for a long time. But sometimes, when I can't sleep, I still go over that night in my head. I'm older now. I've moved out and got my own place and job. But a part of me is still anchored to that house. There was something about it that never made sense. We grew up in a bad area.

I'm talking burglaries, gang solace, sprayed over garage doors, cops cruising past our streets slow enough to make it feel like they were waiting for something to happen. I saw someone get dragged out at their car in front of our house when I was 13. We heard gunshots a few blocks over so often we stopped checking the news the next morning. People broke into homes for TVs, tools, even food. It happened all the time. But it never happened. To us, that was something I could never explain.

We weren't special. We didn't have a dog or bars on the windows. We didn't even have a working security system. Sometimes I'd come home and find the screen door unlatched or a window that looked tampered with. But nothing ever came of it. My mom would brush it off and tell me not to worry. I tried not to, but it always stuck with me. On the other hand, my old man was gone before I even turned six.

I used to ask about him sometimes. My mom never had much to give. She said he worked in a specialized field, whatever that meant. I figured it was a nice way of saying he was mixed up in something illegal, maybe ran off to keep us safe or save his own skin. I never bought the noble sacrifice angle. he left us behind. My mom worked her ass off to keep things afloat.

I watched her come home with her feet so swollen she had to sit on the bottom step to untie her shoes. She'd run her hand through my hair and go check on my little brother before she even made herself a plate. She was always tired, but never stopped trying. I couldn't imagine walking out on that. I started stepping in when I got old enough to see how much she carried on her back.

I didn't want my brother growing up with the kind of resentment that built up in me. I figured if I could keep his world calm, maybe he wouldn't need to carry a grudge. His name was Michael, same as our father. I remember fighting her on it when I first heard. I was only eight, but I remember sitting on the side. of a hospital bed, saying it made my skin crawl. I didn't want to come home and say that name again every day. I didn't want to picture that man every time my brother laughed or cried or needed help

tying his shoes. But she wouldn't budge. I called him Mikey. Still do. Wouldn't say the full name if I could help it. He was a good kid though. smart, curious, always in his own little world. My mom got the call on a Thursday night about 20 years ago.

She didn't say much when she answered. She only stepped out onto the porch with her coat still on. I stood in the kitchen watching the clock tick toward 10, already knowing what it meant when I saw how she kept her hand on a hip, nodding. She came back in after a while, and before I could ask she rubbed the side of my face and told me she needed to leave

in the morning, some project downstate. It was part of a job, some contract work she'd picked up to fill the gaps that a full-time gig didn't cover. It wasn't optional. She packed fast.

It wasn't a first time leaving for a job like that, but it had never been for a full week before. She made a list of meals and taped it to the fridge, left cab money under the toaster in case something happened, and showed me where she kept the house keys she used to hide in the crawl space. In the morning, she left before the sun came up. She stood in the hallway for a second, watching me make toast,

and said she didn't like leaving us. I told her I knew, and I'd take care of everything. She held onto the doorframe like she didn't want to let go of it. Then she walked out without looking back. She trusted me with a house, and more than that, she trusted me with Mikey. Later, after dinner, Mikey was laying on the floor with his knees pulled up, while he scribbled into the back pages of a notebook he'd torn from school. I was sitting on the couch, flipping through channels I wasn't.

watching. But every so often I looked at him. He was humming under his breath, some off-key tune he'd made up that he never stopped repeating. He was focused on whatever he was drawing with a seriousness that didn't fit an eight-year-old. He always had that far off focus when he got stuck in his head. I didn't think he was weird. I think he saw things differently than most people. Since he could form full sentences, he'd been adamant that there was something in his room. Not someone, something. I remember him telling Mom that it whispered to her while she slept, said he woke up one night and saw it petting her hair.

She didn't know what to say to that. Clearly it freaked her out, but she told him he had a vivid imagination and turned the lights on in his room for a week. week after that. It didn't help. Mikey tore my train of thought when he joined me on the couch. He sat close enough that his shoulder touched mine. That was always his way of asking for something without saying it outright. When I didn't react, he finally spoke. Do you think we could watch a scary movie? he asked. I gave him a side of.

I. Since when do you care about scary movies? I found out about them today in school. Me and my friends were talking about monsters and they said people make movies out of them. You already have enough problems sleeping. I won't if I see what they really like, he said smugly. I figured if he saw a guy in a rubber suit pretending to be a ghost, it might break whatever spell he'd put himself under. Fine, I muttered, but if you have a nightmare, I'm making you sleep in the laundry room. He smiled and shook his head. I won't. I started flipping through the free channels.

Most of it was junk. But one station had a horror line-up running. There was a zombie movie halfway through, another one about some haunted motel. I let the previews play while Mikey leaned forward, fascinated. Then the screen flickered black, and the emergency broadcast tone kicked in. I froze, hands still in the remote, as that flat buzzing drone filled the room. Mikey leaned back, confused.

The words, Amber Alert, appeared in block white letters, then switched to the red warning screen. The message said there had been a confirmed break in a few blocks. over. The authorities urge residents in the surrounding neighbourhoods to lock all the windows and doors, and to report anything suspicious immediately. Mikey read it slowly, lips moving, then turned to me. He didn't seem worried, but he watched me get up. I could already feel my chest tightening. It wasn't the alert itself. It was the idea that if something went wrong, I'd be the one standing between. him and whatever came through the door.

I'm going to check the house, I said. Go brush your teeth, get to bed. But, no, the move is over. He groaned and stood up, dragging his feet toward the stairs. I walked to the front door, pressed on the lock, tested it twice. I pulled the windows closed, tightened the latches, shut the blinds. My hand was shaking, and I hated that. After my paranoia-induced energy wore off, I shut off the light in the living room and headed upstairs.

I passed Mikey's room and saw that his door was cracked open. He was already under his blanket. He didn't say anything when I walked by, but I knew he was still awake. I stepped into my room and shut the door behind me. I dropped into bed and stared at the ceiling, the same as Mikey was probably. be doing. I kept my phone close. The charger cable was lying on the ground unused. I hadn't plugged it in earlier, and now I didn't feel like the right time to go hunting for the outlet. I must have been hovering on the edge of sleep. When I heard it, a high-pitched scream. Mikey's voice. I sat up so fast my shoulder

cracked. My feet hit the ground and I was through the hallway before I knew I'd stood up. My heart kicked hard in my chest. I didn't have time to think. He was screaming and there was no question in my mind what that meant. The alert. The burglar must have broken in and now was after Mikey. I should have grabbed something. A bat, the chair by the stairwell, anything. I didn't. I pushed his door open so hard it bounced off the wall behind it. There was nothing. It was only Mikey, sitting up in bed with his arms around his knees, crying through his teeth. His eyes were wide, stuck on something that wasn't there anymore.

He saw me and flinched, then opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. my hands were shaking worse than his. You're okay, I said. I kept my voice low. My throat was dry. You're all right. He didn't answer.

His breath hitched a few times before he could get it under control. I reached over and pulled him in. He was sweating through his shirt. Bad dream, I asked. He nodded. His face stayed. buried in my shoulder. I wanted to be annoyed, but I wasn't.

That scream had torn through everything I thought I could handle. The fact that it was a dream made it easier, but it didn't make it go away. I was still wound up so tight, my neck hurt. You want water? I asked. No, he whispered. You want me to sit with you a bit? He nodded again.

After a minute, he pulled away and wiped his face with the sleeves of his pajama top. He wouldn't look at me. It was the monster again, he said. I glanced around the room, taking it in. There were clothes on the floor, a plastic cup with a juice box straw still stuck in it, and one of his drawings taped to the wall above his head. A thick black line ran down the middle of the page, splitting it in two. On one side was a boy with a balloon, and the other side was a weird figure made of scribbles.

He saw me looking. Can you check? he asked. His voice cracked at the end. You know there's nothing here, I said, already standing. He probably packed up and moved when he heard me kind. coming. Mikey didn't laugh. He watched me with his hands bawled into his blanket. I sighed and walked over to the closet. I slid it open and waited. Nothing but a few shoes and one of my old huddies he kept stealing when I wasn't looking. I turned to him and gave a mock gasp.

Empty. Guess we caught him on a smoke break. Still nothing. All right, I said, let's go all in. Clauseits cleared. Now for under the bed. I dropped to one knee and leaned in. I expected dust, a sock, a piece of broken toy. Maybe one of his drawings crumbled up and shoved out of sight, but that's not what I saw. At first, all I saw was darkness and the glint of something smooth in the back corner.

I thought it might be a marble, or one of those glass eyeballs he picked out of a Halloween prize bin last year. But then it blinked. It didn't blink like a person. It flexed. A long vertical slit opened and closed slowly. And I realized it was staring at me. Two massive yellow eyes sunk into a head that should not have fit in the crawl space beneath a child's bed frame. The pupils adjusted as I stared, thin and long, narrowing against the light.

The longer I looked, the more of it I could make out. It was covered in thick, uneven fur, damp around the edges, clinging to the floor as if it had soaked into the boards. Its body stretched deep beyond the foot of the bed, thick limbs pressed against the underside like they were forced there. like it had wedged itself into a shape that didn't belong to it. It stared at me. Its mouth was slightly open. Its tongue sat limp between rows of disjointed teeth. Thick strings of spit hung from its jaw.

There was something in that look, something not curious, not afraid, not hostile either. If anything, it looked pleased. I couldn't breathe. my chest locked up. I could feel my pulse in my ears, but I couldn't will my body to move. Then, its jaw shifted, not wide, but enough to show more of the teeth. It grinned at me. The spell snapped. I threw myself back and scrambled to my feet. Mikey was watching me with wide eyes, waiting for me to say he was crazy, or that it was clear, or that we could both go back to sleep.

I didn't say anything. I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him so hard he stumbled. I dragged him out of the room, across the hallway, toward the attic hatch near the laundry closet. He was asking questions. I couldn't hear them. I pulled the chain, dropped the ladder, and showed. him up ahead of me. I scrambled into the attic behind him,

grabbing the string and yanking the ladder back up with both hands. It retracted with a crack. I slammed the hatch shut and sat back, listening for anything beneath us. Nothing. Mikey was sitting in the corner near the insulation rolls, breathing through his nose, trying not to cry. I sat beside him and stared at the hatch.

I pulled her my phone I cracked thing I bought from a guy at school for 40 bucks The screen was scratched but still worked I dialed 9-1-1 and pressed it to my ear My hand wouldn't stop shaking It rang once before the operator answered I didn't wait for her to go through the usual questions Someone broke in

I said there's someone in a house I hesitated. That wasn't what I meant, but I didn't have the words for what I'd seen. I couldn't tell her there was something under the bed, so I didn't explain. I repeated myself, voice cracking. There's something in her house, we're in the attic, please send someone, please. She asked for my address. I gave it to her twice.

She told me to stay calm. she said officers were en route and asked if I could describe the intruder. I didn't answer that. I told her the doors were locked, that we were hiding. I asked her how long they'd take. Then the screen went black. I stared at it for a second, not understanding what had happened. I pressed the button.

Nothing. I flipped it over, nothing. It had died in my hand. Mikey looked at me. He didn't ask if it was okay. He knew from my face that it wasn't. And then, from downstairs, something broke through the kitchen window,

followed by scrambling steps and drawers opening and closing. Eventually, it was accompanied by another sound, a massive crash that sounded like it came, from where Mikey's room would have been. Another set of steps started, but they were strange, like whatever was down there didn't walk often. The first view was slow,

and it turned into what sounded like a gallop. Something big moved through the house, gaining speed. The other set of footprints, presumably in the living room, stopped. A while later, I could hear blooded school, screams, cabinet slammed, a table-tipped, chairs screeched across the floor, wood splintered, something thick and weighty tore through the hall. I heard an animalistic noise roll up through the floorboards, something between a growl and a cough. Something started crunching, and a massive gulp radiated through the house.

Mikey buried his face in my side. I couldn't move. Then all sound ceased. Nothing followed. Only the cold stillness of insulation pressing against my back, and Mikey's rapid, silent breaths against my ribs stayed. I didn't know what was going on down there, but I knew, sure as hell, I didn't want to find out.

I didn't ask Mikey if you heard it. That would have been in soul. He was shaking, hands clenched around my shirt. I didn't speak either. I didn't want my voice to break the silence in case the silence was what kept it from returning. Time passed. When the first blue light hit the far window in the attic,

I audibly gasped. A car door slammed, then another. Boots moved across the porch. A voice called out from the front of the house. but I was too afraid to make a sound. They found us both in the attic. We were pale and shaking. My throat was so dry I couldn't answer their first question.

Mikey hid behind me, still holding onto the hem of my shirt. One of the officers stepped in gently, eyes scanning the hallway, his free hand near his hip. They led us downstairs once they confirmed we were alone. The house was a wreck. The dinner table had been split in two. It sent the legs crushed inward. Two chairs were broken in places. One lodged halfway through the dry wall.

The cabinet doors hung open and their contents scattered across the floor. A streak of something dark had smeared across the linoonium. One wall, the one beside the coat rack near the stairs, had been cracked open with sheer force. I could see where the wood splintered outward. The broken kitchen window led in a gust of wind, and on the floor below it was a pistol. The officer picked it up with gloved hands. He turned it to his partner and said something I didn't hear.

From what I overheard, they identified it as having belonged to the man from the Amber Alert, the burglar who'd been breaking into homes nearby. one of the officers patting my shoulder. He told me I'd done a good job, said calling it in had probably saved both our lives. His tone carried confidence. He looked past me a few times while he spoke, scanning the room as if something might still be standing in the shadows. He said the guy must have broken in, panicked and fired off around before trying to escape, or maybe something else scared him.

They didn't know. No one had found anything at all, and they never found that man after this. I nodded and kept my mouth shut. I didn't see a reason to correct him. I wouldn't have known what to say if I tried. Years later, I kept thinking about what the cop said, that maybe something scared him off.

I never saw the thing. under the bed again after that night. I don't think Mikey did either. He stopped talking about it, but I've thought about it more than I care to admit. That night, it could have followed us up to the attic. But it didn't. And I've come to believe it wasn't haunting Mikey at all.

It was guarding him.