Transcript of Episode 203 | Two Creepy Stories from Reddit
Good evening, it’s Spooky Boo coming from the beautiful shores of my quaint little Northern California town of Sandcastle. You know Sandcastle, right? A little north of San Francisco floating somewhere around the mouth of the Russian River? If you haven’t been there, it’s a beautiful place but you’ll get lost once you actually find it. Some say they can never find it while others disappear when they do. Be careful what you ask for.
I’m looking down on the beach but it’s too foggy tonight to see much of anything, but I can hear them. I can hear the cryptids growing and cooing for attention. They’re hungry and brave. Far too brave for me to venture out into the fog so here I sit, ordering some dinner and putting the delivery boy in danger instead.
Tonight I have for you two very creepy stories from Reddit. These creepypasta stories
For more information on the stories in this episode visit www.scarystorytime.com and click on Creepypasta where you will find the stories written by countless anonymous and well-known authors throughout the internet. You may submit your own stories by clicking on the Submissions link.
Now let’s begin…
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Story Number One
I Went to the Address On My Fake ID
by Jake Wick
The following is a written confession obtained by the FBI, which have been leaked to the public. Reader discretion is advised.
Our mission: to give young people a chance to experience adulthood!
Man, they almost make it sound noble. That’s what I thought as I scrolled through the ABOUT section of IDLord.com, a site (based in China, I believe) that sold fake ID’s like hotcakes. It was surreal looking at something like this; some site that sells phony drivers licenses to kids with inspiring sales copy. I was 18, at this time, and four of my friends and I wanted to get one of those group deals on fakes. $60 per person, something like that. If you went solo, it was north of a hundred, and since all of us were on board we thought what the hell. After doing some research on some shady sites on how best to concoct the info on your fake, I was ready to place my order.
Step one: Use your real first name, but a fake last name. This means that a bouncer won’t toss you to the curb after your friends have been calling you ‘Jake’ the whole time in line, even though the name on your I.D. says Fabio, or some shit. The fake last name… well, come on, no need to explain the reasons for that. My real name is Jake Dalton, so I use the name Jake Norman on my fake ID.
Step two: Use the age 21. Though it’s generic, it’s a common age, and there are lots of people who are, in fact, 21. No need to stretch your age.
Step three: Your picture. Make sure there’s even lighting. I actually once knew a guy who got busted because, on his ID photo, half his face was covered in shadow. He had no idea. And why would he? He was a stupid 16-year-old.
Step four: The signature. Just make it look like you’re not in kindergarten. Oh, and make sure it’s the fake name you came up with, and not your real name.
Step five: The address. This trips some people up. Some people make up a completely fake address, but then they don’t remember it when a suspicious bouncer asks them. Instead, use your actual house number so you can remember it, then make the street a fake one and change the state to whichever state your ID says.
Okay. Easy enough. So, I got my fake in the mail—checking the mailbox profusely over the next couple of weeks to make sure my parents didn’t intercept my package—and it looked great. I live in Asheville, North Carolina, and my fake ID was a Tennessee drivers license, the state which borders mine. I live at 308 B*** *** ***, so the address on my ID was a place in Tennessee called 308 W*** *** ***. Easy to remember.
My friends and I—or should I say Jake Norman—had a blast that Friday night. We got past bouncers, we bought cases of beer, we got into bars and did shots with our cash tips we’d gotten at work. It was great.
My friend, Sammy, and I were chilling the following day, Saturday afternoon. We were sort of hungover and a bit bored, just watching stuff on YouTube and reading stuff on forums. As we go through 4Chan, we come to find that there is a thread for ID Lord, the site we got our fakes from. We decide to click on it, see how other folks made out with their fake ID experiences. There were little minor complaints; “the UV is a little high,” or “the signature looks stretched.” There were glowing reviews, too.
And then, we came across something that was a bit odd. There was a subthread which was titled: The address I made up for my ID is a real address??? Anyone else notice this? What followed were a half dozen comments claiming the same thing.
Naturally, Sammy and I went and looked up the address I had made up. There it was on Google Maps. 308 White Brook Lane, and in Tennessee, no less.
We thought maybe ID Lord used real addresses for realism, but surely that’d be illegal. I’m no law student, but that seemed like a form of impersonation.
But there was one thing that really caught our attention. A few of the commenters claimed that the houses had money stashed in the floorboards, lots of it. People came up with theories as to why this might be; the most convincing was that maybe the houses were drug houses used by the same cartel that sold the fake ID’s.
Well, being broke high schoolers, Sammy and I were soon en route to the address, which was only a few hours from my house. It was sunset by the time we arrived. The house was a two-story home in the hood, and it had a chainlink fence surrounding the property. A large oak tree stood in the backyard, looming over the house as if protecting it. Beyond that were some woods that stretched on into the next neighborhood over.
Sammy and I got out of the car and headed for the property. The chainlink gate creaked as we opened it and stepped through. We walked across the overgrown, dandelion-filled grass, and went up the doorsteps and opened the screen door and knocked. No answer. We knocked several more times and, still, no answer.
“Dude,” said Sammy, “let’s fucking go in and look for the money.”
“Hell yeah,” I replied.
We went inside. The place had furniture in it and it seemed as though someone was still living there. But everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and we were never more than three feet from a cobweb, so we were fairly certain the house hadn’t been lived in. Still, we had our doubts.
“I don’t know, man,” I said, “we might be trespassing.”
“Look,” said Sammy, “I ain’t passing up on a boatload of money. Let’s tear this place up, find it, and get outta here. No one’s lived here for years. Look…”
Sammy ran his finger across a mantle, displaying the wad of dust that had snowballed onto his fingertip.
“See?” he said.
“Yeah, yeah,” I replied. “All right, let’s get to it.”
We tore the place up; threw up couch cushions, rummaged through drawers, peeled away molding, put holes in the walls.
It was dark, now, and we were about ready to give up and just go home. That’s when we heard something. It sounded like a television.
“Shit, dude,” I said. “Is that a damn TV?”
Sammy and I stared at each other with our jaws agape. Our shocked, open mouths were pits of darkness. Our eyes were bugs’ eyes. The sound of the TV was coming from upstairs.
“You think someone just left it on?” Sammy asked, stupidly.
“Oh my god, dude,” I sighed. “We’re fucked. Probably some old person who can’t hear a thing.”
“Only one way to find out.”
Sammy and I crept up the stairs. Each step creaked, and each time it did, we winced like we’d been pinched. Whatever was playing on the TV was a commercial, but I was pretty sure it was a super long infomercial, because it sounded like the same voice had been talking for the past few minutes.
We got to the top step and I, at the forefront, peeked around the corner and gazed down the dark hallway. The hall stretched for about 20 feet and there was a door at the end. Blue light flickered beyond it.
“The TV, I presume?” I whispered.
Sammy and I crept down the hall.
“Excuse me?” I called.
Sammy shushed me and slapped my shoulder as his eyes went wide. “The hell you doing?” he hissed.
“We’re really sorry for being here,” I said, ignoring Sammy. “We thought the place was empty. We got the wrong house, and…” My voice drifted off as we listened for a response. Nothing. We arrived at the end of the hall and pushed the door open. The room was empty. But, it was what played on the TV that was truly haunting.
The TV was an Oxiclean-type infomercial, with some guy shouting at the camera in an excited way.
“At ID Lord, we value you!” the salesman shouted. “You get to create a new you that is of legal age! A you that gets to party with the adults, get into clubs, or order a beer at your favorite bar! Get together for a group purchase, and get fifty percent off your –
Sammy and I looked at one another with big eyeballs.
“What the fuck?” I asked.
“Let’s go,” said Sammy. “This is…”
We turned around and there he stood. Or should I say, there I stood. It was me. Even in the shadows, I could see that it was me that stood across from us. Either I had a twin, or something had occurred that was beyond my comprehension. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. I went into a state of paralysis by fear.
Me—the other me—wore the same clothes I’d been wearing in my fake ID photo. The hair, that was the same too. Something else matched, too: the facial expression. When I had gotten my photo taken, I just gave a little half smile. And that was the expression the other me had plastered to his face, unmoving, unblinking, not even a twitch.
“Wh-Who are you?” I said.
Still holding the same facial expression, the other me spoke. “You know who I am.”
“Y-You’re… you’re me.”
“No. You’re Jake Dalton.”
“Y-Yeah.”
“I’m Jake Norman. I was gonna pay you a visit, tonight. But it looks like you came to me…”
Before Sammy or I could do a thing, Jake Norman lunged for Sammy. My evil clone pounced on him like a tiger and bit into his neck. My god, the gargling noise that erupted from Sammy’s throat, that mix of screaming and bubbling blood.
“Sammy!” I shouted. I tried to pull Jake Norman off of him but the clone was firm as a statue, and pulling on him was like trying to uproot one from the ground. I backed away and got ready to run, just as Jake Norman lifted his bloodstained head and glared at me. I shrieked and booked it toward the stairs. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see the other me roll onto his back, prop himself up, and proceed to spider-walk after me.
I flew down the stairs. The other me did that freaky spider-walk down the steps, faster than any human could go in that position. I yanked open the door, ran to my car, and hopped in. As I put the keys in the ignition, Jake Norman slammed his face up against my window and pressed it to the glass, hissing as he ran his tongue along the glass. I started up the car and sped away.
I went to the police immediately. I told the cops to go to the house and they’d find his body. When they did, they found nothing. Not even a bloodstain. I was suspected for Sammy’s disappearance. I was eventually exonerated, but everyone still looks at me like I did it. I know what everyone is thinking. They think I’m a murderer. I think I’m gonna have to move, probably to another state.
But those are the least of my worries. Jake Norman is still out there. And, by God, he’s coming for me. I know, sooner or later, he’ll come looking. And he’ll find me. Fact is, I would’ve been better off in prison.
Story Number Two
I’m At Your Bedroom Window
Credited to mayaxpapaya on reddit
A warning for my fellow travelers: if you ever have a layover in Philly overnight, don’t spend the night at the “Economy Motel.” And if you absolutely must, steer clear of room 103.
I was heading south to visit some family members for a few weeks, and unfortunately the only flight available included a seven hour layover in Philadelphia. Not wanting to spend those hours huddled outside the airport, I rented the cheapest motel I could find, and took the shuttle over at about 11 PM. The place was just about the shadiest looking motel I’d ever seen, but it was a bed, right?
I checked in and headed to my room – 103. Exhausted, I immediately collapsed on the bed. A bit lumpy, but not terrible. Not bothering to take my contacts out, I closed my eyes and let my thoughts wander.
I was yanked back to reality by a loud grumbling from my stomach. Right. The airline hadn’t fed us. Annoyed, I dug around in my bag for one of those microwaveable soup cups, which I tossed in the room’s microwave. As the microwave rattled away, I noticed a piece of paper wedged underneath it. I yanked it out and unfolded it. There were two words scribbled on it hastily – “Don’t look.” Huh. Whatever. I tossed it aside and retrieved my soup.
Feeling lonely, I hopped online to see if anyone was on. I was in luck – my long distance boyfriend happened to be on Skype. I called him up and we chatted awhile, trying to keep our voices down. Eventually, though, he said something that made me laugh, and I heard a muffled curse come from upstairs. Feeling guilty, I said my goodnights and ended the call, with the intention of getting a bit of rest before my next flight.
As I lay in the now dark room, I noticed a thin stream of light coming from where the curtain didn’t close completely. Annoyed, I got up to close it. I was almost at the window when I heard it:
“I can see into your bedroom.”
The voice sent a chill up my spine. It was very quiet, and high pitched, like a child’s. It was so soft, I wasn’t sure I hadn’t just imagined it. I shook my head and reached for the curtain.
“I know you can hear me. I’m at your bedroom window, and I know you can hear me.”
I jumped back as a shadow crossed the stream of light coming into my room. I definitely hadn’t imagined it that time. There was a voice, directly outside my door. Someone was out there, looking in. I jumped back into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.
“I’m at your bedroom window… I know you can hear me. I can see in your bedroom. Are you listening to me? I know you can hear me. Come, take a look. I’m at your bedroom window…”
The taunting went on and on, rattling into my thoughts and leaving me paralysed in fear. Suddenly I heard the tenant upstairs moving around again. Footsteps stomped over to the door above, and I heard muffled shouting. “Hey, shut up down there. This isn’t funny, I have work in four hours!” The door upstairs slammed, and there was silence. I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the pillow, determined to get some sleep.
“I’m still out here… Come look out your window.”
I sat straight up, heart pounding in my ears. The voice was back. It whispered on and on, repeating its mantra over and over again. I put my hands over my ears and rocked back and forth, trying to block out the sound. It was no use, the longer I sat there, the louder it got, until I could hear it so clearly, it sounded like it was right next to me.
Frantic, I picked up the phone and dialed the police. Stammering and stuttering in fright, I managed to give them the information – where I was, what was wrong, please help, I’m scared. I didn’t care if it was a prank at this point, my mind was reeling in terror. The officers assured me they’d be over shortly to see what the issue was, I thanked them and hung up the phone.
As soon as I did, silence descended over the room. It wasn’t just that the voice stopped – no, utter silence filled the room. The air conditioner stopped, the street noises outside ceased, even the faint hum of electricity from the TV and lights went away. It pressed on my ears with a tangible heaviness that sent shivers through me.
Next to me, my phone rang. The caller ID told me that it was the police station, calling me back. Cautiously, I picked it up and answered.
“He-Hello?” I whispered.
“They aren’t coming,” growled the voice.
And every light went out, plunging the room into complete and total darkness.
In the dark, I fumbled for my bag. I might not have had a flashlight, but I did have my video camera, which had a weak light on it. Besides, I can’t deny I wanted to film this, if only to prove that I wasn’t going insane. Finding it, I turned it on, casting a dim light over the room. Even with this light, the shadows still consumed the edges of my vision, making me jump at every perceived motion I caught in the corner of my eye. Shaking, I forced myself to focus on the camera. Carefully, I stood up from the bed and walked toward where I thought the curtain was. The thin light from the camera only served to give a vague outline of the curtain and door, as though the darkness that had swallowed the room was even now working against the light from my camera. Carefully I reached out and touched the curtain, pushing it closed all the way. Whatever was out there couldn’t look in now.
As I did, I heard a loud clicking sound next to me, like a latch turning in the door. Panicked, I whipped around to look at the door. Inexplicably, it had opened on its own. The latching sound I had heard, however, was the door getting caught by the extra security lock. I could see nothing through the crack, just more inky blackness outside.
I slammed the door shut again, double checking the locks and latches.
Everything was in place.
I breathed a sigh of relief – that’s when I heard it.
A sort of scuttling sound, coming from the back of my room. Somewhere in the direction of the bathroom. Cautiously, I moved slowly toward the noise, trying to keep my hands from shaking too badly. I knew whatever footage I got was going to be a mess of wobbly camera, but my videographer skills weren’t exactly my top priority at the moment. I approached the source of the noise, but found nothing there… except for another piece of paper, wedged partly behind a wall length mirror next to the closet.
I fumbled to open the folded up scrap, trying not to tear it in my haste. When I finally got it open, there were only two words:
“Turn around.”
I was not about to do anything of the sort. Trembling, I slowly looked up at the mirror, while pointing my camera behind me at the same time. To my horror, the light from the camera illuminated a faint silhouette of something behind me. All I could make out was a vague form, no taller than the height of the bed – and it was moving toward me.
I broke out of my paralysis and dove into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. Quietly sobbing, I leaned against the door and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the cracked tiles, the door firmly closed and locked behind me. Whatever it was scrabbled a bit at the bottom of the door. Then came the whisper:
“Let me in. I’m out here, in the dark. Let me in.”
“GO AWAY!” I screamed.
The voice stopped abruptly. I shivered and let out the breath I had been holding in tightly. I still clung to my camera, unwilling to let go of the one thing that was keeping me tethered to reality. I sat there until the rays of early sunlight began peeking under the door, and I knew it was safe. Carefully, I cracked open the door and peeked around. The coast was clear. In a rush, I grabbed all my luggage and raced out the door. The hotel manager looked at me kind of oddly, but I wasn’t going back in that room.
I spent the next hour waiting for the shuttle in the lobby.
The flight to my aunt’s house was short and uneventful. I spent the flight running over what had happened over and over in my mind. Could it have been a prank? Who could have done that?
It didn’t matter. It was over. I was out of that insane place, on my way to family and friends. I tried to put the whole thing behind me, and just enjoy the ride.
I’ve always loved flying. Watching the world fall away behind me is one of the most incredible feelings – the patterns beneath you, the rivers, and ponds, and winding roads, spotted here and there with cottony clouds, shadowing the land. This time, however, I just couldn’t enjoy the scenery. I was too on edge from the previous night’s events.
The plane finally landed, and I just about ran to meet my aunt and cousins. Finally, I could start my vacation and get back to a normal state of mind. I hugged my aunt and my little cousins so tight, just to be sure they were real. We all laughed, and packed up the car with my luggage to head home. I didn’t tell them about the motel.
That night, my aunt made my favorite – pan-seared salmon, dripping with lemon and butter. Since she lives so close to the beach, it was fresh from that day’s catch. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything so sweet and fresh. Sitting here, with my family, I could almost laugh off the events of the night before. Almost.
Silence descended upon the house as night fell upon us, bringing with it a thick fog. The little cousins toddled off to bed, yawning and rubbing their eyes. My aunt and I sat quietly in the living room, her reading, me silently recalling the night before over and over. Finally, exhausted, I got up and announced that I was heading to bed early. A bit surprised, my aunt wished me good night, and I headed to my room to collapse. Once alone, however, I felt unease creep in around me. The only lamp in the room was the bright overhead – too bright to sleep with. And with the fog as thick as it was, no light came in from outside. As if that weren’t unsettling enough, at the foot of my bed was a large window, and there was no curtain, only a Venetian blind.
I shivered and turned on my side so I couldn’t see the window. Slowly I fell into a fitful sleep.
I woke up sometime around 3 AM to an odd squeaking noise, like nails running across glass or tile. Confused, I sat up and looked around. Blinking, my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. Still, I could see nothing that could be making a noise. In fact, in seemed to be coming from somewhere outside. My heart rate quickened as I stood up and approached my bedroom window with apprehension. With shaking fingers I reached for the pull to open the blinds.
I yanked down with one swift tug and the blinds flew open. Nothing. I let out the breath I had been holding in a rush. I had only imagined it.
Or had I? As I glanced down, I noticed the long, slightly smudged mark near the bottom of the window, as though some grubby hand or paw had run along the glass, looking for a way in. I dropped the blinds, dashed back to bed, and pulled the covers over my head, desperate for some sleep. It seemed impossible that I’d ever get back to sleep after that, but eventually I drifted off, dreaming of strange noises and small, scuttling creatures hiding just at the edge of my vision.
I woke up in the late morning, head wreathed in fog from a restless night. My phone was buzzing next to me. Squinting, I glanced at it to see that I had five unread messages, all from my aunt. I shook my head, not wanting to bother with it at the moment, and fell back against the lumpy pillow.
Something was wrong.
My eyes flew open and I sat up. No. Even without glasses or contacts, I could tell I wasn’t in my room at my aunt’s house. But no, I couldn’t be – I wasn’t – no!
I was. I was back in the motel room from the night before. I tried to scream, but only a choked cry escaped my lips. I looked back at my phone – every message from my aunt was a variation on “Where are you?!” Still, in my pajamas, I ran to the door, threw it open, and dashed to the office. In a panic, I ran in and immediately started begging the manager for help. He looked up, startled – not at me, but at the door I had just come in through.
“That door again? I thought I fixed that damn thing…” Without a single glance at me, he walked over and shoved the door closed, giving it an extra push with his shoulder. He hadn’t even seen me.
Later, I returned to room 103, numb and confused. As I sat on the bed, I heard the voice one last time: “You’re mine now,” it taunted. I didn’t care. I couldn’t even muster up emotion anymore.
I’ve lost count of the days I’ve spent here by now. I don’t think I’m dead, just not quite synced up with the rest of the world. These days, I’m the one leaving the notes, warning travelers not to look out the window. Most of them laugh when they see my scribblings, but I don’t worry too much. It’s the people that dwell too long on my message that worry me. They’re the ones that listen too closely to the voice in the window. They’re the ones that might end up like me someday.
There’s a young couple staying here right now. I’m sitting outside now, waiting for them to quiet down and go to sleep. I’m trying not to think of how life was before I ended up here. I mean, I’ve tried leaving, but I can’t get past the parking lot entrance. The only knowledge I get from the outside world now is from my phone and the occasional news program I watch during what passes for a “continental breakfast” at this motel.
I think the two inside have fallen asleep. Well, he has at least. I’m not worried about him. His girlfriend – or fiancée, or whatever – I’m concerned for her. She’s still up, eyes darting around. I know she saw my note, and she’s definitely upset. She’s a perfect target.
Excuse me now, I’m going to go huddle in the closet, with my hands over my ears.
The voice is going to start soon.
