Creepy - Why Cotton Candy Ruined My Life

Episode Date: August 26, 2020

It'll do worse than rot your teeth...***Written by Mandahrk***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Produced by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This is the bloody disgusting podcast network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic. affect the pictures of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. Why Cotton Candy Ruined My Life, written and narrated by Megan McDuffey. This is an account of something that happened to me around 30 years ago. Back when I was just a child. What happened to me that day was so terrifying. that just thinking about it sets my heart racing. In fact, my hand is shaking even now as I try and type this out.

But I think it is beyond time. I let this off my chest. It's up to you if you want to believe this or not. By now I'm used to people thinking I'm all kinds of crazy. Back in the late 80s, before the Babri Mosque had been demolished, my family was living comfortably in a small town in central India. The internet's reach hadn't yet extended to our little corner of the world. Hell, our family couldn't even afford a television, and the only entertainment we had as kids

was other kids. As it goes, for small towns like ours, almost everyone knew everyone else, and we always had a large group of kids to play with. This was, of course, before communal violence swept the nation, such that even the playgrounds began to be divided along religious lines. By far, our most favorite activity was playing cricket, as it was and continues to be for most South Asian kids. Every week, we would each get two rupees, with the condition being that the losing team had to pull its money and treat the winners. It added stakes to our matches, and even led to fights, but it sure was something to look forward to each Sunday.

My father was against this, arguing that it teaches kids to gamble, so I had to be able. so I had to sneak off to my much soft-hearted mom to pay for my share. This was how it was on every Sunday at around 4 p.m. I would take my cricket bat, strap it to the back of my bicycle, and ride it to the playground. Our cricket field was just a wide open space next to a seldom-mused basketball court, about two to three kilometers away from my house. My parents weren't particularly irresponsible, so it is still a wonder-tubeased. me that I was allowed to go that far all alone at such a young age.

The little playground was oddly positioned. The only buildings near it were an old post office and some abandoned houses. If it hadn't been for us kids, our town would have just forgotten about that area. The streetlights on the road, some distance away, were the only artificial source of light there. So, believe me, when I say this, when it got dark, it would get very creepy, and none of us liked to stay there after sunset. It was a Sunday, like any other. After a lot of begging and pleading, I convinced my mother to give me the money and happily ridden my bike to the field.

I remember being one of the first ones to arrive that day, setting up the stumps and impatiently waiting for the others. There were about 20 of us, all from different socioeconomic and religious backgrounds, all united by boredom and cricket. I would never have such a diverse group of friends ever again in my life, especially with what happened in a Yodhya a couple of years later. We won the match that day, and I remember playing exceptionally well myself. The sun had started to go down. The sky was a sickly shade of orange,

and we were chatting about the match and deciding where to go for the treat. When I felt an intense urge to pee, asking my friends to wait for me, I decided to go relieve myself on the walls of the old post office. Yes, I had terrible civic sense back then. As I unzipped my pants, I could hear them laughing and leaving, thinking it would be hilarious to leave me alone in the dark. I quickly did my business, zipped up my pants and turned around, ready to get out of there. When I saw him, he was standing next to a bicycle with a wall of cotton candy behind him. somehow attached to his cycle.

His face was tilted to the left, and he had this strangest squint, with both of his eyes pushing painfully rightward, such that his pupils were just tiny black specks in the white expanse of his eyes. He had a very dry mouth that pushed inward, parched, and toothless like an old man's, which was bizarre since he clearly looked very young. I stood frozen to the spot as I saw him, unable to believe what I was looking at. The next second, my heart jumped as he rang the bell on his bicycle.

Tring, tring, tring, tring. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Imagine you're all alone in the middle of an empty field, and a strange, squinty-eyed man with his head tilted to the side. is standing right in front of you, ringing the bell on his bicycle while not even looking at you. Tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring.

In short bursts of three, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring. My brain tried to rationalize it. Maybe he was just a candy cellar, albeit bang in the middle of an empty dark playground with no one here but the two of us. My parents had always warned me about strangers who tried to kidnap kids by giving them poisoned candy. But this was much more terrifying than that.

After a short while, I gathered up what little courage I had. What do you want? I asked, my voice much more lower-pitched than what it usually was. At that, he stopped ringing the bell. and for a few moments the both of us stood motionless, in complete silence as the last tring echoed uncomfortably around us. Then suddenly his face jerked into a straight position and his pupils moved to the center of his eyes such that he was staring directly into my own. Tring, tring, tring, tring, he whispered, his soft voice still sounding loud and clear in my ear.

ears. Tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring. His mouth turned into the most frightening, toothless smile I had seen as he kept on whispering. Tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring. All rational thought fled my body, as I just ran from there forgetting everything. I forgot that I left my bike back there, forgot where I was running to, just ran with survival the only thing on my brain. I didn't know how I knew it, but I just knew that if I delayed running by even a second, I was going to die. Pain exploded in my legs as my feet pounded the ground, desperate as I was to flee from

this. I was screaming and crying as I ran. not looking behind me, yet somehow knowing he was right on my heels. My fears were confirmed when I felt his breath on my neck and heard him whisper right into my ears. Tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring. I stumbled and fell. Fear and hopelessness took over my body.

I felt like a cornered rat who knew he was about to be swallowed up by. a snake. Reluctantly, I looked around and saw that he wasn't anywhere close to me. He was still standing there, exactly where I had left him, staring at the spot where I had stood just a moment to go. I didn't stick around to see what would happen next, and ran from there, only stopping at the front door of my house, where I collapsed in exhaustion. My mother herself was scared out of her wits when she found me on the doorstep, reduced to a blubbering mess. Through my tears, I tried explaining what had happened, not knowing how much she understood. I would later find out that my parents thought someone was trying to kidnap me.

If only it was something that rational, my ami hugged me, and I finally calmed down. Even my older sister, Fatima, was sympathetic towards me for once. That evening, my father went out and got my bicycle back. He was furious at me that I was still going out and playing cricket using money, that I was going all the way there alone, even though he had never objected to that ever before. But most of all, he was upset that he had almost lost me. He took me to the police station to file a complaint,

but the cops weren't interested. We came from an underprivileged family. and I hadn't even been hurt in any way, so they pretty much ran us out of the station. That night, I was lying in bed with eyes wide open, with the rusted ceiling fan creaking as it rotated slowly. I had seen far too much that day to sleep comfortably. I don't know how much time had passed, with me just staring at the ceiling, when I heard that scarily familiar sound again. Tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring. It was unmistakably the sound of that god-awful bell, this time, coming from right outside my room.

I closed my eyes, pulled my blanket above my head, pretending that I hadn't heard anything. Tring, tring, tring. The sound continued for what felt like hours. finally ceasing after whatever was making that noise, realized I wasn't going to take the bait. It had been a good while after the sound of the bell had stopped when I peeked out of the blanket and pulled the curtains aside. He was still there,

silently standing next to his bike, his spindly body being illuminated by the moonlight. Face tilted, eyes squinting to the right. He was as frightening as I remembered him to be. He must have sensed me because as soon as I saw him, he started ringing the bell again. I shivered in fear and began calling for my sister, making sure to keep my voice down to a whisper. Fatima! I said urgently.

Fatima, wake up! She didn't move. I said, my voice cracking. The bell continued to ring. She slowly began to stir in her bed and the ringing immediately. She yawned and looked at me. What happened? She asked.

Her eyes beginning to widen as she saw the fear in mine. It's him, I whispered, tears running down my face. He's outside. She immediately jerked upright and pulled aside the curtains. There was no one there. There's no one, she said, looking at me suspiciously. Go back to sleep. I knew that she didn't believe me, that she thought I was making it all up, including what I said had happened earlier in the evening.

She pulled the curtains back and went off to sleep again. She might have not believed me, but I knew it was real. I was as alert as I had ever been, straining my ears for the sound of the bell. But it wouldn't come again that night. I checked my watch. It was 3 a.m. and I knew. needed to pee. I tried to hold it in for as long as I could, but a time came when I just had to go. There was no way that I was going to wet the bed, even as scared as I was.

After my bladder became intolerable, I decided to brave the journey to the bathroom. As I got to the bathroom door, I sensed that something was wrong. I could feel a presence inside, and I knew that I should have walked away then and there. But I pushed the door open with trembling hands, and my hunch was proven correct. I saw a figure in the corner, his back turned towards me, the darkness thickening around his silhouette. Even though I couldn't see him, I knew who he was. He began to furiously whisper, his soft voice sounding like it was coming from right next to me. Tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring, tring.

I screamed with all my might and fell backwards. He turned, his eyes shining as they focused on me, and gave me that fucked up smile of his. I began to crawl backwards, screaming my lungs out. I soon felt arms around me and jumped, thinking that he had got me. But no, it was Fatima. She was looking at him, her eyes wide in fear. She finally realized that I had been scared.

speaking the truth all along. Go get Abu! She screamed, and I got up and ran, screaming from my father with tears blurring my vision. The last thing I saw was Fatima trying to close the bathroom door before I was out of the room and ran into the solid frame of my father. He pushed me aside and strode into our room,

but I didn't stop running, not until I found my mother and quickly wrapped myself around her legs, crying hysterically. She began to comfort me, running her hand through my hair. Just when I thought the madness was coming to an end, my father let out a yell, full of such anguish that I had never heard in his voice before, or ever again. Ami quickly walked to our room, with me following closely behind, albeit a little reluctantly.

She gasped as she entered the room, and I understood why. What I saw there chilled me to the bone and has haunted me to this day. Fatima's lifeless body was lying on her bed, with large tufts of cotton candy sticking out of her mouth. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us. at Creepypod on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. All stories told on this podcast can be found at creepypasta wiki.com

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