Lighthouse Horror Podcast - People on this plane AREN'T NORMAL. They're hiding something EVIL | Scary Stories

Episode Date: September 2, 2024

Do NOT fly on this plane if you want to survive! Scary Story exclusively written for the channel by Annie R. Cover Art from Ninerio More of the artist’s works at ninerioarts                              Original YouTube link: People on this plane AREN'T NORMAL. They're hiding something EVIL.    Merch: lighthousehorror.shop For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

Always listen to the flight attendants, especially when they give you a list of rules. You ever been in an airport after midnight? It's like being an empty mall. You feel like you're not allowed to be there. But unlike everybody else around me, I'm actually glad I'm here. I've got something waiting for me at the end of my flight. You see, just a few hours ago, my boss dropped by my desk, telling me I need to be in L.A. right away. He needs to get me out there for an emergency sales pitch. Don't worry about all the

PowerPoint, he said. The grunts would write it up for me and he'll send it over. The only thing I need to worry about is sweet talking the suits. You know, that's the thing about sales. The numbers and graphs don't really matter much, because step one to closing a deal is to get people to like you. You know, get into their heads. Find the things that would make them forget they're about to give away thousands of dollars. I was flying on some airline I never heard of FTR airlines must be one of those cheap ones. So I was on flight 789 departing at 2 a.m. I was a little pissed off about the idea of spending the night in a cramped plane seat, but I also couldn't help feel a little excited. I was closing a huge sale. It was the kind of opportunity that could change

everything for me. The airport was a ghost town. My knees popped as I shuffled to my gate. There were just a handful of other passengers at this hour. Only the cheap and desperate would book this flight. That was fine with me. That means I'd have a row all to myself. I've taken so many flights that they all blurred into one long, dreary routine. So I barely glanced at the flight attendants as I made my way to my seat. That is until one of the attendants stepped right in front of me. She was dressed in the usual dark blue uniform, but her eyes were wide open, almost bulging out of her skull, like she'd seen a ghost or something. Without a word, she pushed a crumpled piece of paper into my hand. Her fingers were cold, and she looked at me with such an

intensity, that it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I wanted to ask her if something was wrong, but she'd already begun to walk away. Watching her move down the aisle, with that customer service smile fixed on her face, I shook my head. Must be some new safety pamphlet or a feedback form, you know. They always want to know if you enjoyed your flight, as if anyone enjoys flying in these metal tubes. I found my seat, and I slumped into it. I was exhausted.

The excitement from the sale was wearing off. I shifted in my seat to get comfortable, and that's when I remembered what the attendant gave me. As I unfolded it, I braced myself for the usual spiel about buckling my seatbelt, or how to put on a life vest, as if I hadn't heard those instructions a thousand times before. But no, this was different. Instead, I found a list of rules scribbled on a page torn from a notebook. The ink was slightly smudged, making it clear was written in a rush, and each rule was weirder than the last. Rule number one, do not look out the window from 3 a.m. to 3.45 a.m.

Number two, do not accept drinks from the flight attendant wearing red. Number three, if you hear a baby crying in the bathroom, alert the flight attendants. Number four, change seats if someone leaves a briefcase next to yours. Number five, do not talk to any other passengers. And number six, drink the soda at the end of the flight. I blinked, reading it again. Was this some kind of prank? My tired brain couldn't wrap itself around what I was seeing.

I glanced around looking for a camera crew, but everyone was settling into the flight like usual. The attendant who gave me the note was busy helping an older couple to their seats. Any sign of the fear she'd shown me when I boarded was. completely gone. I was confused, but too exhausted to think about it much. I just wanted to get some sleep before I got to L.A. So I shoved the node into my pocket, and I got ready for takeoff. The engines roared to life, and the plane rolled toward the runway. This whole process all felt very familiar. I found myself going through the motions almost by memory. I buckled my seatbelt,

without looking, and I put my bag under my seat as the plane picked up speed. A little while later, the plane's hum became a familiar drone. I began to zone out as the city lights flew by. It was then that a flight attendant with a cart appeared beside me. The first thing I noticed was how perky her smile was for such a late hour. Anything to drink, sir. We have water, coffee, tea. anything you like," she began.

Her tone was chipper, almost giddy, actually. I shook my head, not really interested in anything. And that's when I saw her uniform wasn't like the others. Everyone else was decked out in blue, but she was dressed in red. Her uniform looked a lot fancier, too, looked like it was made of silk. It shimmered and seemed to glow in the dim cabin light. Odd, I thought. But maybe she was special staff or something. No, I'm good, thanks. I was planning to get some sleep first, I said.

Oh, well, we have a fine selection of wines and spirits, too, sir. Our whiskey is especially good. Here, tell you what, you can have a glass. on the house, Mr. Horner," she said as she grabbed a bottle from the cart. The bottle was dark green and noticeably heavy, but it didn't have any kind of label on it. As she poured it into a glass, out came a clear, golden liquid. It actually looked pretty good. But when I leaned forward to take it, I saw there were things swimming in it. Small, thin, worms.

If I wasn't paying attention, I wouldn't have noticed them wriggling around. My stomach turned just watching it. She pushed the glass toward me, and I almost gagged. No, thanks, I'm not thirsty. I stammered out. But her smile didn't change. I'm trying to make this easy for you, Jack. Take the drink.

I laughed nervously at that. The weird rules flashed in my head. I'm sorry. I really can't. I have a bad stomach from flying, you know, bad experiences. Hmm. You don't know what you're in for, Jackie Boy? would make the flight go so much faster.

Drink, before I crushed this glass down your throat, she said. Her smile was still wide and friendly, almost serene, like she didn't really know what she was saying. The worm-like things continued to move around the drink. Uh, okay, but, you know, I'd like some chips to wash it down with. You know, can another flight attendant get me some? I asked. For a second, her smile faltered, and her eyes seemed to darken. Of course, sir, she finally said.

She moved away, taking the cart with her. I watched her go, waiting to see her offer drinks to other passengers. But she didn't. I kept thinking back to those things swimming in the drink. I needed a bathroom. A splash of cold water would do me good. The cabin lights were dim as I walked down the aisle. There was no sign of the red attendant anywhere.

But as soon as I locked the bathroom door behind me, I heard a high-pitched crying sound. A baby's cry. It sounded so close like it was right there with me. My head started to hurt as the cries grew louder. I bolted out of the stall, and my blood ran cold because it was quiet outside the bathroom. No crying baby out here? Not even a toddler throwing a tantrum.

I moved closer to the bathroom door, and from the other side, I could hear the faint sounds of a baby crying. The rules flashed in my head again. If you hear a baby crying in the bathroom, alert the flight attendants. Heart racing. I flagged down the nearest one.

There's a baby crying in there? I said, pointing back at the bathroom door. Without a word, she signaled to the others. In no time, they all gathered by the bathroom. They were holding a bizarre collection of items, paper bags, gloves, soda, and even a pacifier. One of them noticed me lingering and hurried over. You should return to your seat, sir.

You really don't want to hear this, she said. feeling like my feet were glued to the carpet. I just stood there, trying to make sense of it all. The cries from the bathroom continued, then warped. The sounds twisted into something I could barely describe. It started to sound more like a broken toy now. It grew more mechanical, until it abruptly changed into a deep-throated, laughing.

her. The attendants were scrambling now. Their movements were frantic and their faces pale. One of them was trying to keep it together. But I could hear him gagging. Another woman with her hair tied back, so tight it looked painful, had tears going down her cheeks. Her hands were shaking as she held a paper bag like it was the only thing keeping her sane. The noises from the the bathroom got worse, I was hearing loud, throaty laughs coming from it now. And in between the laughter was the squeak of the baby's cry. I took a step back, then another, and in the group of terrified flight attendants was the one in red. She was standing there, a soft smile on her face as she looked at me. Walking back to my seat, my mind.

was racing. All the other passengers didn't even seem to notice what was going on. I could still hear whatever it was in the bathroom. But nobody else seemed to notice. Some guy across the aisle was snoring. A lady, too, rose down, was flipping through a magazine. It made no sense. And as soon as I sat down, the laughing, crying sounds. They just stopped, like someone turned off a recording. I needed answers. So I flagged down a flight attendant as she passed. Hey, can you tell me what's happening here?

I asked. She paused. She looked tired, like she'd had this conversation more times than she cared to remember. I don't really know, she admitted. something in her tone made me believe her. All I know is that one flight gets chosen every night. Chosen? I asked.

Chosen for what? She glanced around as if making sure we weren't being heard. To... I guess you could say to test the passengers. To see if the rules would be. followed, or else we might not make it to our destination, she said. Follow the rules, I repeated dumbly. Yes, just please do what the note says.

And with that, she moved on. I pulled out the crumpled list of rules from my pocket and read them again carefully. Rule number one, do not look out the window from 3 a.m. to 3.45 a.m. I checked my watch, and I saw it was almost time. I sighed before reaching over to my window. My fingers trembled slightly, as I tugged the window blind shut with a quiet snap. Better to be safe and sorry, I figured, especially after everything that had happened.

As 3 a.m. approached, a strange, unnerving calm settled over the cabin. I could see the attendants going down the rows to ask everyone to pull their blinds down, too. One of them gave a tiny nod as she passed me by. They know what's coming. And then at exactly 3 a.m., a faint reds. The red glow began to seep around the edges of the blinds. I looked around to see if anyone else noticed, but no one seemed to be bothered at all. The cabin lights had been dimmed for the night, making the red glow from outside seem even brighter.

I fought the urge to look outside. What the hell could be out there? then came the sound of thunder, or at least I hoped it was thunder. It roared and rumbled, shaking the very air around us. But this thunder, it had a rhythm, almost like the flapping of enormous wings. Wings that belonged to a creature so much bigger than the little airbus we were on. With every clap of that thunder, I could feel the plane tilt slightly, like it was being pushed around by air currents made by wings.

And then a scratching sound started up against my window, a soft, persistent noise that made my skin crawl. I was pretty sure it wasn't raindrops, It was deliberate, like something was trying to claw its way inside. I shuddered, gripping the armrest until my knuckles turned white. I counted down the minutes until 3.45. Finally, the red glow began to fade, and the scratching stopped. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding before carefully lifting,

the window blind. I didn't know what I really expected to see, but I never would have guessed to find a photo. An old photograph taped to the outside of the window. It looked old. The edges were frayed and corners curled up, like it had been handled many times before. The picture looked like it was.

taken years ago. It showed the cabin crew, all posed in front of the plane. Each of them looked slightly younger, their smiles as crisp as their blue uniforms. The sunlight hit their faces just right, casting soft shadows that made the moment seem brighter. And off to one side was her, the attendant in red or blue now. In the picture, she looked just like the rest of them, part of the family. Her smile was friendly, warm even. Nothing like how she looked this whole flight. It made me wonder who she was and what happened to her.

Because out of all the people in her, in the photo. She was the only one with exes drawn over her eyes. I sat back, feeling more isolated than ever. I wanted to block it all out. I rubbed my fingers over my eyes in exhaustion. But then came this shuffling sound right next to me. I froze, remembering the rule about not talking to other passengers. I was determined to stick to the rules now no matter what, but something kept nudging at my arm. It was insistent, like someone really wanted to get my attention. I couldn't ignore it anymore. I looked down, and there it was, a man's finger tapping at my arm. But he nudged at me in weird, swaying motions. He'd wiggle his finger side to side before doing a couple

taps. It was so strange that my brain took a few seconds to catch up with what my eyes were actually seeing. It was a neatly trimmed finger, but it wasn't connected to a hand. Instead, Instead, it extended beyond the second knuckle into one long tube of flesh, and it stretched all the way back to a briefcase next to my seat. The briefcase itself was nothing special. Just your average, battered-looking piece of luggage. It was slightly open, but I couldn't see what was inside. A thin, golden liquid leaked out of it.

It looked like what the red attendant wanted me to drink earlier. Just the sight of it again made my stomach churn. From the briefcases opening came a soft, shuffling noise. And then, as if the situation couldn't get any more messed up, a second finger joined the first. I could see the nail poking out first, before the rest of it. of it followed. It slithered out, slow and deliberate. It looked like a snake coming out of its hole, and it made its way towards me. Both fingers, with their flesh stretching back into the darkness of the briefcase, tapped and prodded at the air near me, as if searching for something.

It was like something out of a twisted nightmare. I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. The part of my brain that screamed for logic and reason struggled to make sense of it all. And then I felt a sharp pain on my arm. It snapped me back to my senses. I looked down and I saw that the first finger had somehow grown a sharp, dagger-like nail. It had stabbed me hard enough to draw blood.

A drop of it landed on the finger, and it was like the briefcase, or whatever was inside it, got excited. The second finger, which had been slowly inching out, suddenly picked up pace, and as it did, also started growing a sharp nail like the first. As I watched, more fingers started poking out from the briefcase. They wriggled and squirmed like a nest of snakes. Each one sprouted a sharp nail as it came at me. There were a lot of them, way more than the usual tin that belonged

to any one person. All of them sliding and twisting around each other. I couldn't tell if they were all part of one single, monstrous entity, or if each finger was its own creature. The sight was enough to kick my instincts into overdrive, and I jumped out of my seat. That's when a flight attendant approached. Her expression was tired, but unsupportable. as if she'd seen this kind of thing before.

Let's get you to a new seat, she said politely. Her tone was calm, but filled with urgency. It was obvious she knew more about the situation than I did, and at that moment, I listened to her. As we walked away, I took one last look back at my seat. The fingers were still sweet. squirming out of the briefcase. More violently now. As if they were angry, I'd gotten away. Getting moved to the back of the plane, it felt like stepping into a different scene. Around me,

life went on as if everything was normal. An old man was totally engrossed in a book. Glasses slipping down his nose. In another row, two tourists were asleep with their sunglasses still on, their heads gently bumped into each other as the plane moved. Nearby, a little girl rested her head on her mom's shoulder, both peacefully asleep. The attendant who guided me back here had a grim look on her face, like she was leading me to my execution. We'll be landing soon, sir. Just a bit more, and it'll all be over. I'll bring you your carry-on, she said.

And then she left. I tried to settle in, taking deep breaths to calm down, but I didn't have the chance as the flight attendant in red came by again. She had her drinks cart with her, But she looked like a mess. Her hair stuck out from under her cap, and her uniform was stained and ripped in places. But what really got my attention were her eyes? They weren't remotely human now.

The whites had turned a sickly, shiny yellow, veined in a way that looked like something was squirming underneath. And her irises matched her uniform. They were a deep, bright red. Her makeup was all smeared across her face. Her nails looked wrecked, as if she'd been clawing at something or someone. Why are you doing this? I couldn't help but ask her.

Her voice was still the same friendly tone, but hearing her speak, it made me very uncomfortable. I like collecting souvenirs, Jackie Boy. This one's about to give out. She giggled while she pointed to herself. She poured me another drink. It was the same bottle she took out earlier. This time, she filled the glass to the brim.

As she did, I remembered what the other attendants said. We'll be landing soon. I knew what I needed to do. If I could just stall a bit longer, maybe I'd make it through this flight without breaking any rules. It was a good thing then that my job was all about getting people to talk. So about that photo outside on the window, I started. Who's the woman who looks just like you?"

She paused at that, her smile fading slightly. I don't bother with human names, Mr. Horner, she replied. But I noticed her eyes beginning to twitch. For just a few seconds, I saw them turn into a normal shade of blue before turning red again. Well, what's with all these rules, then? I pushed, watching her closely. She hesitated, then said, The airline made a deal.

That's all you need to know. I could see her patience was wearing thin. Blood started foaming at the corners of her mouth. She struggled to keep smiling, but there was a hint of desperation on her face now. She shoved the glass of me, while her other hand started fidgeting with her hair. Take it, Mr. Horner, or you'll force my hand, she said, as she ripped out a fistful of her hair. I leaned back, feeling a glimmer of hope.

I had a hunch about her, and I was willing to gamble on it. You know, me should be more careful with your souvenirs. You wouldn't want to damage it even more, would you? I said, as I pointed at the clump of hair in her fist, I leaned towards her. You can't actually make me break the rules, can you? She responded with a growl. No, I can't.

But there are ways. You talk a big game, Jack Horner. But do you have the guts to watch the things I can do to her? Her eyes rolled back into her head. They were a soft shade of blue. Her expression shifted. And in that moment, she looked like an innocent, fright. young woman. Tears started running down her face.

Please, sir, I'm scared, she whispered. And then her head snapped back as if she'd been hit. When she looked at me again, her eyes were a bloody red. She smiled before pointing a finger at her face. She moved the glass closer to me, as she looked at me. As she lightly pressed the finger to the corner of her eye. I knew what she was implying, and the thought of it made me sick. But right then, the captain announced we were starting our descent, and the timing could not have been better.

Well, it looks like you better store that cartaway now, you know, because rules are rules. I said, I hoped I sounded braver than I felt. She snarled at me, revealing long, jagged teeth. Looking into her mouth, I could see more of those finger things crawling up her throat. She raised the glass up and smashed it on the floor in a fit. The golden liquid seeped into the carpet before just evaporating. The glass scattered around us and then began to melt, like it was. made of ice. I watched the shards melt into the floor, and when I looked back up, the red attendant

was gone. I looked around for her, but all I could see were the other passengers waking up and getting ready to land. I was buckling myself in, too. When an attendant pulled up with another drink's cart, she was dressed in the the normal blue uniform this time. She looked tired but relieved as she took out a can of coke. She popped it open, poured it into a cup, and handed it over with a weary but genuine smile. This one's on the house, she said, her voice low, but kind. And then, almost under her breath, Congratulations on making it to the end." And that's when I remembered the last rule.

Drink the soda at the end of the flight. Notting, I accepted the drink, and it was the best damn Coke I've ever tasted in my life. The familiar sugary taste ground me back to reality. It was exactly what I needed. I watched her as she moved down the aisle, reminding everyone about seatbelts and tray tables. And soon enough, the plane landed with the usual thud down the runway. Everything went as smoothly as it always had.

As I stepped off the plane, I could feel each flight attendant watching me. We'd all been in this together, I thought. Checking out and getting my luggage, it was a blur more than anything. I just wanted to get some sleep. I didn't even bother unpacking when I got to the hotel. All I needed was to get my charger out of my bag and plug my phone in. But as I opened up my case, I saw a crisp white envelope sitting right on top of my clothes. Inside was a note written on the airline's stationary.

They were thanking me for being such a good passenger. And that's when I noticed their full name. FTR Airlines, it stood for Follow the Rules. And along with a note was another plane ticket.