CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Why were the posters in the abandoned mall watching us?"

Episode Date: April 23, 2024

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Saturdead:   / lady_lockley_and_the_deadeye_mall  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...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"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

It all started when I was 16. It was Halloween, and my friends and I had all had a bit too much fun pushing each other to do something dumber and dumber. We'd snatch the bottle of red from my parents' stash and passed it around when one of us came up with the idea to check out the old mall by the freeway. The place had been closed a few years prior, and none of us had been there more than a couple of times as kids. But we figured it could make for a good story. The five of us crammed into a car and made our way out there, blasting music as we went along. Godsmack, POD, PM 5K. It was a different time.

Rod was up in the front seat, trying to smoke something, but the rest of us kept interrupting him. He had this stupid hang-up and a joke where, if you reminded him of it, he wouldn't stop laughing. It could boil down to a single word. bird and he'd burst. As we got there and poured out on the concrete, a chill past the roomy, more so than the autumn air. The pillars outside reminded me of a ribcage, making the whole place look like a giant concrete corpse.

In the dark of a Halloween night, pretty much anything can look terrifying. That's just where your mind wonders. made our way in through a loosely boarded glass door. Stepping inside, all the light we had were our flip phones and the moon slipping in through the skylight. I'd been in that mall a handful of times over the years, but what I was seeing there and then was something different. Without the people and the ads and the billboards and the stalls, it was just a husk,

something left behind. Still, we found a bunch of stuff. There were still metal racks in one of the old clothing stores which we could climb. There was a counter at the old sandwich place where we could pretend to take orders. There were windows to break and these huge, empty spaces where our voices would carry all throughout the building. The only place that helped some sort of reverence to us was the toy store on the second floor. had once been the center of our attention.

We were just 16, and most of us remembered a time where we would beg our parents for a trip there. It had been the biggest toy store in our world, and there was always something new to look at. But seeing it, then and there, it was just as dead as the rest of the place. Not even the sign remained. As the others made their way inside,

I split off to take a walk, lighting up the hallway with my phone. They mocked me on my way, saying whoever splits off the group is always the first to die in horror movies. Illarious. I went past what remained of the old stores. The gift shop, the flower boutique, the bookstore. I could almost see them, but only in my mind. Now it was all concrete and cheap sandstone tiling. The place wasn't even old enough to be dusty yet, remaining in this sort of space between

living and dead, like a man on life support. It would only take the flip of the switch and this whole place would come alive, ready to welcome people back. But of course, that wouldn't happen. Then at the end of the hall, I came to a full stop. It turns out we weren't the first people with the idea to come here. There was a resting area in the far back, a sort of alcove. Benches set around an empty space where stalls were supposed to be, all centered around

this massive red marble column. I called the others over. I had to see this. My voice easily carried all the way across the mall and the others came running. someone had been here they'd flipped all the benches onto their backs and placed several pots and planters in a circle around the column hell they even planted something

I could see little blue sprouts poking up for the freakiest thing was the column itself they'd taken the old mall posters and plastered the thing with them these posters were just the picture of a smiling middle-aged woman, dressed in a sort of 50s attire, a generic yellow sundress with little white flowers on it. She also had the most generic stock photo smile you could imagine. To her right on every poster was a cartoonish speech bubble.

They were just old sayings, ordering on clichés. Like Mama used to make them, the more the merrier, happily ever up. after. But the freaky thing was not the posters themselves, but what had been done to them. Someone had burned out the eyes, leaving them covered in scorch marks. With the red marble in the back, my brain sort of short-circuited, making me think I was looking into her empty sockets, seeing the gore behind the eyes. It was unsettling, and probably intentional. They also modified some of the sayings, crossing out certain words. Mama used more, ever after. It was unsettling. Some of us caught the Halloween vibe of it, thinking it fit

perfectly with what we were up to. Others could sense it, like me, but this wasn't just a fun things someone did for fun. This was deranged. It must have taken hours to arrange this sort of scene, and we couldn't imagine a good reason to do it. That's Lady Lockley, said Rod, pointing up at the posters. I had a crush on her. Looks like my babysitter. She's like 50, I added. Still got a great rack. The others agreed. It was funny. but I couldn't bring myself to laugh. This felt like rot. In the same way that a corpse decays,

this was the way old buildings decayed. It made me feel filthy, like I was some kind of bacteria, infecting this place and breaking it down, corrupting it, digesting it. I felt sorry for Lady Lockley. She deserved better, a happily ever after.

Once we got bored of wandering around, we made a way back to the entrance on the other side of the building. One of the guys squealed in delight. He'd found a ball pit. Looking at it, it was clear that this thing wasn't sanitary. We could hear something moving in it, probably rats. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, leaving a dead wire hanging like an open nerve. and the whole place was covered in a thin layer of concrete dust. Someone's got to go in, they said.

We ain't leaving until someone goes in. Not me, I added, no way. And that settled it. I was the first to decline. I had to be the first to go in, no matter if I wanted it or not. The others grabbed me and pushed me into the deep end. face first.

Plastic balls rattled against my ears. I was fully prepared to be drenched in rat pee and bites. But nothing happened. There was concrete dust covering my scalp and forehead, but apart from that, I was fine. It tickled my nose a bit. The pit was deep enough to reach about halfway up my body, but I'd sunk into the bottom. I could feel the rubber flooring against the wall. my cheek. The others were lighting me up with their phones. The lights coming through the balls

made a sort of kaleidoscope of pastel colors, stretching the shadows out into long, distorted shapes. As I struggled to regain my balance, I fumbled around with my hands, trying instinctively to grab something, but instead, something grabbed me. It was only a silhouette. Aftolet. A face somewhere in the swirl of colors, the shape of a head with two holes where the ice were supposed to be. It gasped excitedly. Even from a distance, I could taste the ammonia on its breath. Its icy fingers interlocked with mine, wanting to bring me closer.

I recoiled, shake in my head. I think I let out a scream, but I don't remember doing it. My pulse shot through the roof as I forced myself. back to my feet, scrambling to get back to the others. They were laughing their asses off, thinking I was just surprised. As my head breached the surface, they were standing in a half circle, shining their lights at me. Of course, there was nothing in the ball pit. I wiped my dusty hair and prepared myself to drag one or two of them down there with me. But something in the air changed. The faces went from gleeful joy to careful curiosity to worry. Turning back towards the

pit, I could see why. On the side of every ball in the pit was an eye, lovingly hand-painted with a sharpie. The others helped me up and tried to diffuse the tension with puns and jabs. It didn't take long for the chill to leave our spines But it took me the longest Looking down at my hand I felt cold Like something had really touched me Something just as real as the mall

And the people who invaded it We left shortly after Taking the car back to town Blasting our music again We filled the rest of the night with more stolen wine games, dares and laughs, but something in me had changed. I couldn't let go of that image of Lady Lockley and the red marble in the back of her head. Through every chuckle and every smile, that feeling held me back.

Something had changed forever. That night, as I slept on Rod's couch, I watched the moonlight cast a shadow on the opposite wall. The cross of the window shaped the light into four perfect squares. As I lay there, half drunk and half asleep, I imagined them as little television screens, each showing whatever came to mind. Old memories, dreams, hopes. But every made-up show I imagined always ended the same way. With the mental image of a middle-aged 1950s housewife, a dead smile, a sad, a

southern drawl and the red infected cavity in a skull. Her eyes ought to be. The next day, it all felt like a bad dream. Some of the guys were hung over and most of us just made our way back home to sleep it off. I didn't want to go home. My parents were so focused on my older brother at the time that they didn't care what I did. He was the one with the problems. I could get away with pretty much anything. Being gone for a day was nothing compared to a heron addiction. Still, I had to get back home. Much like expected, my parents weren't around. They left a note to say there were some leftovers in the fridge and that I could call them if I needed something, but that was it. I'd never once called them on that number. Making my way up to my room.

I stopped. We have these two windows at the top of the staircase with two knobs in the middle. For a moment, I imagine those two knobs as little eyes. I could imagine them blinking all throughout the day and the next. This would become a repeating pattern. Two coins on the counter could send a shiver up my spine. The rings of a scissor grip would make me think of those gaping eye sockets. two soda cans with their pull-taps standing at attention brought me the same image.

Every combination of two circles, spheres or rings, it all forced that image back into my head. That joyless smile of Lady Lockley and her icy fingers interlocking with mine, bringing me closer. It came to a point where people started to notice. For example, when I had dinner, with my parents, they had a beer each. The bottles were placed next to one another, and the top of the bottles formed those two holes. It took me a while to notice, but when I did, I couldn't stop thinking about it. It physically made me itch, and I had this intense need to separate them. Once I did, the two of them just looked at me, not a word spoken. I tried

to ignore it. I reorganized my space. to make sure there was nothing around to remind me, but every now and then there'd be something. It could be something as little as two people passing on the street and their heads reminding me of floating eyeballs. But it got worse. Once as I stepped out of the shower, I spotted myself in the mirror. Even seeing my own eyes looking back at me sent me into this spiraling anxiety. I could imagine myself eyeless with that infected red cavity

in the back of my skull I could see it to the point where I convinced myself that it was true that I had no eyes to begin with my eyes would close and I couldn't bring myself to open them I would try to pry them open with my fingers kneeling on the cold bathroom tiles

but it wouldn't work nothing would come on I'd cry. Come on. But it just wouldn't work. It was so infuriating that it tickled the back of my brain into a joyless smile. No one else was suffering from this.

I had no one to talk to, and no one would understand why I was feeling that way. It was impossible to describe. And to a group of guys who mostly talked about women and games, there wouldn't be much interest in mental health. So I decided to do something about it myself. Much like exposure therapy, I had to go back. I was going to tear down every poster, set fire to the dam ball pit, and proved to myself that there was nothing to fear.

I was going to destroy it, Lady Lockley. I was going to break those icy fingers and stare into her eyeless face unflinching. I had this crappy moped that I'd saved up for one summer. Enough time had passed for the first Minnesota snow to fall, so I had to be careful not to slip and slide. I loaded up a backpack with all kinds of destructive tools. I didn't even bother to read the note left on the kitchen counter this time. No one else was going to fix me, so I had to do it myself.

I kept the wheel steady, feeling the snow slush stained my cheap jeaned. cold water soaking into my second-hand shoes. By the time I got there, I was shivering. A cold wind had picked up from the overcast, and there was no moonlight to guide me this time. Still, I'd prepared. I had a great flashlight with plenty of spare batteries packed away. My dad had this battery box in the garage, full of whatever kind he might possibly need. I brought the whole thing

I made my way inside through the loosely boarded updoors the place felt warmer but maybe it was just me being angry I had this frustration pent up in me forcing me forward I went past all the hollow shops the broken benches the empty planters

and the dry fountain I climbed up the dead escalator and followed the familiar shops towards the resting area I could see the red marble column from afar, sticking out like a sore nerve. The posters plastered to it like a band-aid to an open wound. My footsteps echoed as I made my way closer, clutching the flashlight harder. There were little sprouts in the pots and planters now.

Some were the little blue bud. Others had barely poked through the dirt. One had grown quite tall. There were more posters now. Some had been stuck to the walls. Others lay strewn about on the floor. Someone had been there recently. I could tell.

A few chairs from one of the downstairs restaurants had been dragged up there and smashed, forming a kind of plastic half-circle across the floor. It didn't matter to me. This was all going to burn either way. I put down my backpack and brought out a bottle of gasoline. My dad always kept a spare can in the garage, but I didn't want to bring the whole thing, so I just filled up three plastic bottles instead.

I unscrewed the top and just started chucking it at the column, tainting the posters. They were made with some kind of plastic that didn't react well to gasoline, making part of the ink melt a little, making Lady Lockley smile into a frown. and then a garbled mess. I went all around the column, using two of my three bottles. It was messy, and I got a whole lot of it on my clothes. I'd have to wash it when I get back. My parents didn't ask a lot of questions,

but if I were to come back home drenched in gasoline, they might have something to say. As I finished, I put down my bag and got a hold of a lighter. One of those with a long neck for lighting fancy candles. I tried to wipe the gasoline off my hands, but doubt was getting to me. I didn't want to set myself on fire. Then again, this place had to die. For a brief moment, I got stuck staring at the posters.

Even with the ink melting off, the holes remained. Dozens of empty eye sockets staring at me. some with a barely human face attached. Some were relatively unscathed, still carrying the various slogans and sayings of Lady Lockley. There was even a fully intact, happily ever after poster smiling back at me. I put away my flashlight, letting the darkness of the place overwhelm me. The overcast was doing me no favours. I held the lighter up, inched closer.

and clicked it. A single light in the dark, but something was wrong. A chill worked its way across my right cheek, making me squint. Then a breath of air. The light disappeared, and my nostrils were assaulted by the sudden smell of ammonia. And right behind me, grazing my cheek, was something cold. Something I was gently placing his fingers on my left shoulder, inching up towards my neck. I bent down, snatched up my flashlight and turned around.

The cone of light swayed back and forth, finding nothing as I backed away. My feet was stepping on their own, seemingly out of my control. My lungs felt stiff like I couldn't push any air into them. There were puffs of smoke with every little forced panting breath. I wasn't alone. I didn't even think about how far I backed up until my back hit the red marble pillar. I just stood there, frozen. I could feel the eyeless holes turning towards me, waiting for me to turn around.

Something was running down my arm. It made its way to my fingers. I looked down only to see fresh blood. Droplets formed at the edge of my fingertips, pulling up and dropping to the floor. The back of my head felt wet, same with the back of my pants and jacket. I carefully stepped away and turned to face the pillar, blood. It wasn't just red marble, it was bleeding. The gasoline had made the posters slip off, falling to the floor one by one, leaving the pillar

raw and unprotected. Little pools of blood ran across the floor. It was so quiet, just little tips and taps of drops hitting the floor, mixing with the echoes of my breathing. I could hear the battery in the flashlight rattling as my hand shook from the cold. And in the distance. A hiss, my ears honed in on the sound. A whisper coming from one of the nearby stores,

Put them back. I just stood there, trying to comprehend what I was hearing, what it was demanding. Then, from another store from across the mall, a louder sound. Put it all back. And from a third store, an old fast food cat. kitchen. Put me back, looking down at the pools of gasoline and blood, mixing with a misshaped plastic posters. I shook my head. I didn't want this anymore. All the anger had

turned to fear, and all I wanted was to grab my stuff and leave. I'm going, I said. I won't come back. There was no response. Just like back. home, there was no one to listen to me. Maybe I was speaking to an empty room, making up stories in my head. I won't come back, I repeated. This is it. Screw you all and whatever game you're playing. I won't... I suddenly choked on my breath. I could see them in the distance. Human shapes stepping out of the storefronts, all with the same cheerful yellow dress. The same hair, the same smile. Then something grabbed me.

It wasn't like the first time where icy fingers daintly slipped into my hand, but something violent, angry, nails digging into my scalp, grabbing a handful of my hair, forcing me forward with a dead man's cramped grip. I went from standing to kneeling, having my face pressed onto the floor in a heartbeat. There were no more than two hands, maybe four, five, something heavy pushed against my spine. No, it wasn't just one word. It was a choir, a dozen identical voices speaking as one from across the mall. Two cold fingers touched my eyelids, forcing me to blink.

I forced my eyes shut, trying to squint them on. away. I could barely breathe. I tried to move my head away, shaking the fingers off, but I couldn't. No matter how far I forced myself back, they pushed on until the pain started. This mounting pressure, causing bright, painful spots that dance across the inside of my head. It was excruciating. I was panicking, trying to turn, but I couldn't. There was this raw, primal and motion bubbling inside me, forcing me to scream. I begged and pleaded, but it was too late. I had wronged them, and they were relentless. Had it gone any further, I'd be blind today, may be dead. But it didn't. I heard footsteps approaching, and felt the fingers slowly let up.

pressure released from my spine and the hands holding me down loosen their grip. I slowly opened my eyes, blinking away the spots of pain. Only to see a man. He had a flashlight of his own, casting deep shadows on his wrinkled face. He must have been in his early 60s and was dressed in some kind of maintenance get-up. A janitor, perhaps. He walked up to him. to me as the last hand let go and offered to help me up.

I accepted it and got back of my feet. I didn't dare turn around. I could hear them, feel them, smell the ammonia. Don't do anything stupid, he whispered. Give them a moment. We just stood there. I looked down, trying my best not to bring any attention to myself. At the edge of my vision, I could see flary, yellow dresses shuffle past me, back into

the empty storefronts, back into the mall. He patted me on the shoulder and I looked up. The last silhouette slipped into an old outlet space, leaving the two of us alone. He got some blood on his hands from touching my shoulder and wiped it off on his legs. He stepped back to pick up something he'd brought, a stack of posters and a toolbox. Walking up to me, he had this almost apologetic look on his face. So she picked you too, eh? He sighed.

That makes, what, four of us? Using a bucket and a still working hose in the back, we got enough water and soap to clean the pillar a bit. It had stopped bleeding. coagulated in a way. We ended up putting up new posters, still with the eyes burned out. She likes them this way, he said. The kids always did this to the posters long before the place closed.

She thinks they're supposed to look like this. We spend some time collecting scrap and piling it into a circle around the pillar. That and drawing eyes on various white surfaces. She doesn't have any eyes of her own, so she needs us to give her some. We spent hours just wandering around, touching up the place, watering the plants, cleaning up the gasoline. The Lady Lockley seemed calmer. I could see them shuffling about in the back of the stores, catching a reflection off their perfect teeth every now and then. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that any threat to this place would have me swarmed.

Do you have to do this? I asked. Like, often. Yeah, he nodded. What happens if you don't? I think you know what happens. At the end of the night, as I left them all behind, I saw a final, swaying, fiery dress in the cracks of the wooden boards. Even now, I was being watched, judged, weighed. But for the moment, I was safe. At first, I went back like once a week. Once I brought ping pong balls and painted eyes on them.

They seemed to like that. Another time, I filled up the water fountain. The janitor would return at times to, bringing freshly. printed posters and scrubbing the floor. No wonder it wasn't dusty. I tried to stop going back there, but it would just

build this pressure in me. I'd feel her eyeer. I would start to focus on circles and spheres as if my body was reminding me that I was being watched. I'd sometimes feel something cold at the edge

of my vision, something I see brushing against my ear. It would put me on edge as if expecting something to grab me at any moment. For that damn smile to come out of the dark and become the last thing I ever see. Places like this don't get torn down. The land is dirt cheap and the effort to break and ship off all that concrete just isn't worth it. It remains there to this day.

I would go back every now and then to fix the place up. up to make sure she was happy enough to leave me alone. Weeks would turn to months, and over time they trusted me enough to come back only once every six months or so. I'd make a day out of it. The plants would blossom into these six feet tall radiant blue sunflowers, and a creeping vine would slither at the side of the marble pillar. She seemed to like the vines.

Sometimes there are new people. I don't really know their names, but we can kind of recognise each other at a glance. Some young, some old. We've tried to board a place up to keep people out. But every now and then, some smart ass gets through. I don't think they all make it out. Some of the things I've seen over the years tell a gruesome story of their own. I'm in my mid-30s now.

I've done this for half my life as a sort of stewardship, a part of my life that I can't share with anyone. I've gotten to know a wants and needs. There is a personality there, an intelligence. Sometimes they can get these strange whims. I once saw one of them trying to break through the loose boards, only to be dragged away by the others. I've seen them gently crest the leaves of the sunflowers.

I've seen them dance on tables, walk hand in hand down the empty walkways. And once, just staring up at the moon, I think she's like an immune system, like something remaining to stop the decay. This building has been closed for decades, but from looking at it, you couldn't tell. Most buildings that have been empty for that long, Just look way down and worn, but not the dead-eye mall. It still spry and waiting as if expecting people to come back. And every now and then, they do.

But it's a service I perform under threat of death. And to this day, it terrifies me. While I'm not as bothered by circles or rings, I still have this feeling that I should be. like I shouldn't be normalizing this. I shouldn't have to compromise as something unnatural and otherworldly. But I just don't know what the alternative is.

I have this feeling that sooner or later she'll turn to me dissatisfied. And that day, she'll interlock her fingers with mine and drag me to a dark place I can't come back from ever after.