CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "When I was a kid I held a séance for someone who didn't exist" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 26, 2020

CHECK OUT THE AUTHOR'S YOUTUBE CHANNEL► https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCobM...CREEPYPASTA STORY►by MikeJesus: 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►Daniel Johnsson: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/ygG35SUGGESTED 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-

The afternoon at my fifth grade graduation, I organise the seance. That might sound odd or offbeat, but where I come from, circles of children trying to speak to the dead, is pretty common phenomenon. The affinity towards conversing with spirits that Czech kids of the 90s had is most likely a byproduct of the nation's status as the second most atheist country in the world. Much like our parents, we would still categorically deny the existence of higher power, but when it came to life after death, my generation was a bit more loosey-goosey with its beliefs. The concept of life after death is an attractive prospect for any creature that is aware of its own mortality,

and the idea of ghosts trapped in our realm has its own spooky appeal. But there's something else that drove crowds of kids to sit in candlelit circles when I was growing up. Sanchez gave us a chance to hold girls' hands without drawing any unwanted attention. So, with the hopes of getting some experience before entering my teens and finally feeling Catherine Novakov's palms, I organised the seance on the afternoon of my fifth grade graduation. I thought that in the basement of my Soviet-era apartment block I would find a semblance of romance, but instead, in those musty dark halls, I discovered a dark power beyond my comprehension. There were six of us sitting in the basement, preparing for the ritual.

A summer thunderstorm was pre-facing its arrival with a quiet drizzle on the window that revealed the feet of the outside world. As me and Catherine drew the pentagram, the rest of the group intermittently chatted about other sentences they had attended and tips and tricks are now to make a Tamagachi live forever. Every time the elevator would groan to life, all conversation would cease. In retrospect, I don't think any adults would have had an issue with us trying to commune with the dead, but in that moment it felt like we were doing something that would get us punished if we got caught

the mood in the basement was electric partially because of the dark ritual we were about to organize and partially because of the pop rocks that Mrs Nova Cove had given to our little rag-tag group of ghost chasers the sugar high mixed with excitement of the forbidden was palpable

after we finished drawing the pentagram and lighting the candles our group fell into hushed anticipation All that was needed was the sacrifice. I got your stupid fish, Hunter Heduke announced as he entered the basement. His blonde locks and glasses were wet from the bad weather outside. As soon as he saw me sitting next to Catherine, trying to redraw a wonky side of the pentagram,

his eyes lit up with jealousy. Hayduke poured out the bag of frozen minnows that were meant to be his turtle's lunch into the centre of the pentagram and started to strut around the basement like you own the place. Wow, you have a really crappy basement, Alex. Didn't know your parents were this poor. Heydook and me used to be friends. The previous summer, our parents had signed us up for a summer camp that was obviously for babies.

For two weeks, Haydook and me were trapped out in the Biscuity Mountains with a bunch of nine-year-olds, filling up stupid colouring box. With nothing better to do, we shared secrets. secrets that strengthen our relationship from acquaintance status to best friend territory those secrets brought us together while we were at the camp but by the time we were back in Prague

they became weapons any semblance of camaraderie disappeared the moment Catherine Novicova grabbed both our hearts in her soft palms man there's rust everywhere does anyone in this apartment have a new bike headook examined the bike rack with a gusto of a food inspecting

who's about to shut down a restaurant. Actually, Alex, where's your bike? At my grandparents, I lied. Huh, just starting to realize that, I've never actually seen you ride a bike. Weird. Hey Duke turned around and looked straight in my eyes. He was sending a message.

Well, if you guys want to go riding bikes after this dumb ghost stuff, I can lend Alex my old bike. My parents got me a new one for how well my report card turned out. We're not going to ride the bikes, Hansa. Catherine said, it's raining outside. Plus, this ghost stuff isn't stupid. It's actually pretty cool. Catherine shot me a smile.

She was on my side. I did my best a smile back. But deep inside, I knew that she wouldn't be defending me if she knew the truth. I didn't know how to ride a bike. Whatever, Hadou said, forcing his way into our circle so that he could sit on the other side of Catherine. What don't ghost are be annoying today? Yeah, Alex, what sort of spirit are we communicating with?

Catherine asked. Still smiling in the way that made my heart beat faster. Well, first we have to hold hands so that there is a complete circle of energy. A lump manifested in my throat. As I spoke, Catherine put her hand into mine. We were basically kissing. Or at least, that's what I told my.

cousins later. A complete circle of energy so that the spirits don't leave. The rest of the circle joined hands around the pentagram and frozen fish of the basement floor. My knowledge of saints was limited to a three-paragraph article I had read from the basement literature and my aunt's house, but I had enough imagination in me to wing the ceremony. And now, everyone repeat after me. Dear Spirit, we have come to talk with you. Please do not get angry with us. The other kids repeated the chant with sudden reverence. Setting at the ceremony was all fun in games, but as soon as we were actually communicating

with the Nether Realm, as soon as there was a chance that we might make a ghost angry, everyone wanted to make sure to proceed with caution. The musty basement had turned spooky. Everyone was listening to me. Catherine's hands oozed with anticipation. Oh spirits, help us kind of contact the man who was buried beneath the basement, the famed Nazi commander, the one and only. There was a painting of him the stairway that led up to the computer labs. It wasn't really a painting. It was a printout of a painting that someone had put into a nice frame with the hopes of making our school look classier.

Regardless of the medium, the rich his face was portrayed. Every day, as we walked up those stairs, I saw those tired, evil eyes. The one and only, Jan Amoskaminsky. The elevator groaned in understanding. For a split second, the group was caught in breathless anticipation about ghosts. But then, Catherine's hands fell out of mine. The circle was broken. Hayduke had his arms firmly crossed.

Did I hear you correctly? Did you say that Yanomost Komensky is a Nazi that's buried beneath your apartment? His voice was filled with venom. You know my parents didn't just buy me a new bite because of a cool dude right? They bought me the bike because I aced all of our history quizzes. Everyone knows that Yanomus Kamensky is buried in the Prague Castle and that he lived 2,000 years ago and that he invented homework. Heyduke, come on, stop being a jerk, Catherine defended me again.

My mind reeled back to history class. Kermenski, being buried beneath my apartment, was made up dressing for the seance, but I could have sworn he had some tie to the Nazis. My young mind must have had trouble differentiating between totalitarian systems and achievements in education. Either way, Heduk had called me out of my BS. I'm just saying that Alex knows just as much about Yanomus Kamensky as he does about riding bikes.

Everyone's eyes focused on me. Heduk had burnt my secret. Everyone knew. I could see Catherine's smile dim. She couldn't love a boy. who still use training wheels? We could never be. Heyduke had taken away my one shot at true love.

A sudden rage bawled in my brain. I wasn't the only one in the circle with secrets. Okay, Hey Duke, you caught me. I tried to pull a fast one on you, and you're right, I don't know how to ride a bike. My admission wiped the grin off his face. He no longer had any sway. But I still did.

But you know who does know how to do? to ride a bike? The real ghost that we have all gathered here to talk to. The ghost of a man scorned by life itself. A spirit that has had everything that he cared for burned to a crisp because of a flimsy bicycle, a shell of a once happy person. Gabby the clown. Dude, no, come on. Heduk's voice took on the audacity of a kitten, stuck in a drainpipe. Come on, man, let's not. Dear spirit, we have come here to talk to you. Please do not get angry with us. At first he refused to take part

in the ritual, but as the group obediently chanted along, his arms uncrossed. Hayduke became part of the circle. As he mumbled along the final words of the incantation, it was hard to hide the smile from my face. I was going to hurt

him for hurting me. I was going to reveal his secret in front of everyone. Oh, Gabby, I started, with as much spooky gusto as my tween voice could allow me. We know that you are trapped between our world and the circuses of heaven. Your clown makeup must be smudged from the rain outside.

Your long clown feet must be tired from walking our realm. Come sit with us for a spell. Come bring us some joy as we leave the world of children and enter the domain of teens. It is a sorrow-filled time for us all, and we could really use a clown. This is so dumb and fake. Heduk said, with a shiver in his voice that did little to mask his fear. Everyone in that basement knew something was up.

Yet, as terrified as the kid was, he didn't let go of Catherine's hand. Alex, is Gabby the clown real? Catherine asked. Of course he's not, Heduk yelled. Alex is just making stuff up trying to be scary, but you know what? It's not working.

Only an idiot would be scared of dumb stuff like this. Water from the thawing minnows was starting to spread out through the basement floor. In the dim light of the candles, I could see Hayduke watched the steam advancing towards him. His eyes blazed with fear. Of course is real, Catherine. He was a clown who lived back in the 1800s, I said, making my voice as deep as I could. Have you never heard the story of Gabby the clown?

The basement shook with the dark wines of metal rope as the elevator moved above us. Hey Duke let out a strained wheeze, trying to keep himself together. It was time for some narrative laxatives. I closed my eyes and started to weave a story out of the ether. Gabby the clown used to be a happy clown. His job was his life. For years he would travel the circus and entertain children all over the country. Oh how he adored putting on his clown makeup.

Oh what a spring to a step the clown shoes provided. Gabby was a man who lived a life full of unadulterated joy that he shared with the world. He loved his job, he loved being a clown, but there was something else he loved even more. Katya, his wife, a drapeze artist who would join the circus after running away from an orphanage. It's in her soft hands that he found the true beauty of life. It's in her smile that he found the joy that made his act such a show of pure bliss and laughter. The two of them lived happily. But one day, as the travelling circus set up on a field in the countryside, everything changed.

No one knows how the fire started. It was as if it came out of nowhere, but by the time the flames had noticed, it was already too late. The audience was screaming in fear, and Katya was trapped at the top of the tent as the flames ate away at the scaffolding. There wasn't enough water in the circus to put the fire out. There was chaos everywhere. Gabby watched as the circus burned, as his wife screamed from the high top, and he knew that if no one acted soon, if no one went to get help, everything that he ever cared about would end up in flames.

There was a town nearby. Surely the fire brigade there would be able to put out the fire. Gabby the clown ran outside and jumped on the nearest form of transportation he could find. A wood-framed bicycle. He peddled down the uneven country roads with the speed of a trained athlete. Gabby's long clown feet worked as hard as they could to get help swiftly. But the faster he went, the more the frame of the bicycle groaned. In a sharp turn, with the lights of the nearest town burning in the distance, the bicycle fell apart.

The clown flew off his bike and cracked his head into a tree. What? That's it? There was a twinge of bravery in Haydook's voice. Some stupid clown, the dead wifu, can't ride bikes? This is stupid. An expression of utter delight spread over his face as soon as he stuttered out the word. My eyes narrowed. He didn't die that night.

No, Gabby the clown woke up on the side of the road to the rumble of horses. The fire at the circus had gotten so big that the fire brigade became aware of it on their own. They tried to put it out, but they were too late. By the time Gabby arrived at the circus, there was nothing left but the child remained of the life. he once loved. He was no longer a happy clown, I said. Now he was a depressed clown.

The elevator groaned again. A bolt of lightning cut through the panel houses, a little window to the outside world shock with force. The fear was back in Heduk's eyes. It didn't take him long to find a burnt body. As Gabby looked upon the child remains of the only person he had ever loved, he knew he couldn't go on without us.

How could he possibly make children laugh With the knowledge that he would be coming back home to an empty bed How could he live without a tender caress, without a smile? The wind outside howled hard to make the candles flicker Heduke's eyes were closed He was gently rocking back and forth Whatever fear I was forcing him to confront Was carved deep into his mind

For a split flick of the flame I felt bad for him But then What happened next? Catherine asked. A reflection of the candlelit pendergum danced in her fiery eyes. Our sweat was mixing between our clasped hands.

I could feel a faint echo of a racing heartbeat. Whatever empathy I had for Haydook was overtaken by my need to make Catherine love me. He went mad. Gabby started putting his clown makeup on his burnt dead wife's face. A soft groan came from Haydook. a groan that told me he was near his breaking point.

He painted the same face that he would wear in front of the children on the face of his dead wife, and then. Then he ripped off his own face and sewed her own face onto his. That way, they would be together, forever. No, Hedu whispered. But that's not all. Gabby also chopped off his own hands and replaced them with his wife's hands. That way he would never miss a gentle touch.

No! Heduk screamed, breaking the circle. You're making all of this up. You're just some idiot who can't ride a bike. None of this happened. None of this is real. Heduke was on his feet now, raving, making a mass off himself. Clowns aren't real?

I asked. Gabby isn't real. You're lying. No one would survive having their face ripped off. That's why he's a ghost, Catherine whispered. She still had my back. Exactly. He died.

right after he finished attaching his dead wife's hands to his hands. And, do you know where they buried him? No, you're lying. You're a liar. Gabby isn't real. Tears were streamed down his face. With Haydook's embarrassing performance, no one cared if I could ride a bike anymore. The smell of fish was permeating from the centre of our circle to the rest of the basement.

The horrid storm raged outside. The candles were starting to go out one by one. The atmosphere for the killing blow was set. In the dying light, I tapped the center of the circle. Liar, you're a liar, Alex. This is stupid. This is also stupid. Heeduk's face was red with rage. His hands were curled up into fists and he was coming straight for me. He's going to get you, Hey Duke, I said, still sitting in my spot in the circle. Hey Duke stopped in his tracks. Why? Why would he want to get me?

Because you have a new bike, and Gabby the clown loves new bikes. And also, I gestured to his feet, you broke the circle. Ghosts hate that, Catherine whispered. Suddenly, her grip on my hand tightened. What's that smell? The science worth of tween noses twitched. We all look towards the minnows at the centre of the pentagram. Even in the faint light of the remaining candles, we could see wisps.

of gentle smoke emanating from the fish that Haydook had brought. It smelled like we were in the middle of a can tuna factory. You're a liar, Alex, you made all this up. Admit it. Admit that you're a liar. Tears were streaming down his face. The smoke, coming from the mound of fish,

pushed him over the edge. The suddenly putrid pile of minnows unnerved me as much as the rest of the group, but I still had to finish off my bout of psychological terrorism. No, hey, Duke, I said, as the air in the room dropped to a sea-side stillness. Gabby the clown is real, and is coming for you. Snap!

A flash of light went off from the center of the circle before plunging the basement into complete darkness. jiblets of hot minnow guts sprayed over our little seance. We all ran and never turned back. The afternoon of my fifth grade graduation, I held a seance, and it ended with a bang. The basement groups split up after the seance. Everyone was after different middle schools across the city, and I was whisked out of the country when my mom's job took us abroad.

The memories of that afternoon lasted for a couple of traumatic nights. But, as I got older, as things more pressing than dead bike riding clowns entered my world, the memory of that night was safely filed away beneath childhood hyperbole. The explosion of fish bothered me for a while But I eventually convinced myself That someone must have snuck a firecracker into the pile of minnows While I was terrorising Hayduke

Once a Facebook account became a requirement for modern life I ended up seeing glimpses the lives that the people from the basement group were living Some of them had kids Some of them had pseudo-successful businesses Hayduke ended up becoming a police officer I didn't really care The only person who I probably probably probably kept tabs on, was Catherine.

My affection towards her had definitely diminished since the days of pop rocks, but somewhere in the back of my head, I still had a thing for the first girl that I ever had a thing for. Whenever the two of us were in between relationships, we'd hit each other up and chat, but the planets never aligned long enough to actually have the two of us sit down for a drink. Until tonight. I found myself at the tail end of a series of unsatisfying relationships, and Catherine had just moved back in with her parents after getting unengaged. We figured we would kick back a couple of beers in the old neighbourhood

and check notes on how our lives turned out. The Gabby the Clown conversation came up almost instantly. Neither of us knew exactly what transpired that stormy afternoon. I floated my firecracker theory, but Catherine said there was nowhere that someone could have snuck anything into the centre of the circle without at least one of us noticing. She also mentioned that she heard rumours that someone had stolen Haydook's new bike

within a week of our seance. There was mystery in the air, but a single mystery can't hold up an entire date. After two beers, Catherine changed a stance on the firecracker theory, and after three, we agree that the story of the bike theft was probably just a product of our schoolyard rumor mill.

Turns out the two of us had very little chemistry outside of talking about made-up ghost clowns. Catherine's voice strained whenever she talked about a fiancé and by the time I was halfway through my fourth beer, I started to miss my latest ex. After I walked Catherine home,

I decided to take a little stroll around the neighbourhood and visit my old tween stomping ground. I would have to hit up my fourth beer X, like I usually do. But the light drizzle on my touchscreen made it difficult to tap out a message that would be worth replying to. In a gathering storm, I walked alone, thoughts of childhood and lost loved ones churning through my brain, and that's...

When I saw him, he was standing in the dim light and one on the street lamps, rags hung from his sickly body. They must have been a clown costume once upon a time, but now they were far too dirty and worn to look like anything but a potato sack. His hands were the jet black colour of long dead skin, his foreign feminine face. peeled from his skull, revealing bits of rotted muscle and yellowish bone beneath. The only thing that truly made him look like a clown was his bulbous red nose. He rode a bike towards me. I was too terrified to move. Hi, hi, hi.

Gabby laughed his clown laugh, but there was no joy beneath the sounds coming from his mouth. Why did you do this to me? If I had any answers to give, they were pushed back by the staggering smell of burnt minnows. I was frozen in place by fear. The only concrete thought in my head was my need to vomit. Hey, hey, why must I suffer? Why must I live without my cut, yeah? It wasn't until the coarse tips of his burnt lady fingers brushed up against my arm that I snapped out of my shock.

I pushed a dead clown off his bike and ran for my life His words echoed with me Well past the subway ride back home Hey hey Why must I suffer Why? Hey hey Answer me

Why? I can't sleep Whenever I close my eyes All I can see is that horrible Rotting face Those thin black hands All I could think about is Gabby the clan Whatever theories Catherine and me developed about fireworks in the playground rumour mill have scattered in the fish-scented wind. I made up Gabby the clown, but whatever happened in that basement in that one story made him real.

The clown's suffering is my fault. I'm the one who brought him to life. I'm the one who burnt down his circus and killed his wife. I am the reason why he rides to the night on his bicycle, searching for a life. answers he will never find. My mind is filled with guilt and fear and confusion. But beneath it all,

there is something else. Beneath it all, there is a part of me, a cruel part of me which I would like to pretend doesn't exist but still does. Beneath it all, I wonder whether a Hadoop's squad car has ever gone into my old neighbourhood

and passed by Gabby the clown. As terrified as I am of my own creation, I would pay good money to see Heduk's face when he would find out, I'm not a liar.