Creepypasta and True Scary Stories

Episode 20220110

Three Creepypasta Stories About Beings in Michigan

Good evening, it’s Spooky Boo coming to you from the lighthouse in Sandcastle, California. As we sit here with yet a new strain of BS coming through and we’re forced to enjoy the comfort of our own homes yet again I ask you to please stop hoarding the meat. It’s the only way we keep some of the cryptids happy out here. They like fresh meat and will start eating humans if we can’t feed them. They’re relatively easy to control if they’re fed every few days as they don’t eat a lot but if they’re not consuming food they’re flesh lust will have them devouring every animal and human in sight and we don’t that at all. It was bad enough when we lost our butcher to the demon on the hill and now that a new one is in town we need to keep him employed.

Now, with that Public Service Announcement out of the way, I bring to you stories about goblins and beings in the forests and homes in Michigan. But first I’d like to thank my listeners and Patreon members including madjoe, PA Nightmares, Ivy Iverson, John Newby, Patrick, and 933TheVolt.com. If you would like to become a supporter of the show and get commercial free access please visit my Patreon page at www.spookyboo.club. To find other ways to support the show by purchasing t-shirts, mugs, and even a miniature figurine, check out www.scarystorytime.com/support or share the show with your friends on social media. You can find me on most social media platforms by searching for Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time. It is greatly appreciated.

Now let’s begin…

There’s Something Strange Going on in Akaterville

A Creepypasta written by The Anonymous Crouton

I swear I’m not crazy…. I’m not crazy! Good, got that out of the way. Willing to bet some of you think I got a screw loose. But my time’s almost up. So I have to warn you guys…. Before you all share the same fate.

….My name is Miles Cortica, police officer of Akaterville, Michigan. That’s a small out-of-the-way town for those of you who’ve never heard of it. Nothing much — just a TV station, a few dozen houses, a town center, and it’s all surrounded by the beautiful blue Lake Superior except for one tunnel leading to the mainland. However, looks can be deceiving….

***

….Now while everyone knew each other, contributing in their own way to society but with nothing much to do in the quiet town, that all changed when missing reports came in: three teenagers aged 16, 14, and 17. Considering that they didn’t come from the same family, this wasn’t just some runaway case. There was no evidence of a break-in either, so we were led to believe they did run away. The search parties were called off after a week, and the victims were presumed dead. At least I personally believed they were dead. Besides, that was all in the past.

I was driving on my morning patrol, the dew just starting to dry off the leaves in the morning sun, when I came across one of my fellow officers, Officer Micah.

“Hey, Cort! How are you on this fine day?” he hollered from the sidewalk.

“Tired,” I said as I got out of the car, being sure to park it on the side of the road. “Excruciatingly tired.”

Micah grinned. “Well, you better perk up! You promised you’d take my shift tonight!”

Right. Shit. I completely forgot that I cover for my friend literally all the time.

“Right, I’ll be there.” I said reluctantly.

The orange sun was setting behind the lake, and I buckled up and drove to Starbucks to prepare myself for the longest night ever. Micah’s shift was at the bank. He’d stake out in front of the bank and watch for black-clad bandits and the like. As I was sitting in front of the bank, my car parked just a few meters in front of me. I deemed this the perfect moment to sit on the bench. However, my caffeinated stupor soon gave way to the deep, dark, comforting embrace of sleep.

….I woke up with a startle. Where was I? What time was it?

Back of my neck felt funny — like a prickly sensation. A small table and door was all that remained in a dimly lit room. How did I get here? Where’s my baton and taser? I patted around all over my body, trying to feel for anywhere I might have put them, but quickly gave up. With nowhere else to go, I walked slowly up to the door, opened it, and entered into the next space. What I saw was…. Interesting, to say the least. I was inside my house.

As I looked around, I heard my wife, Isabelle —

“Come downstairs and get breakfast, honey!”

I turned to look back at the door and found that the door was now locked behind me. Having no choice but to move forward, I slowly treaded down the stairs, feeling like something was amiss. When I strolled into the kitchen, my wife was nowhere in sight. Weird. The oven was still running and the bacon was easy at the moment.

Where could she have gone in such little time? I thought to myself that she probably just went to the bathroom…. There was that weird prickly feeling on the back of my neck again. Seriously, what is that?

I walked outside, hoping that what I needed was fresh air, and that’s when things got strange. There was no one in sight. As I checked every house, no one was around.

“They must be in a meeting,” I said to myself.

Something seemed off when I walked up to my car. I still didn’t know where my wife was — was she okay? Shit, what if she’s in trouble?. I ran back inside to find no sight of Isabelle anywhere.

“Isabelle? Are you there?” I shouted.

No response.

As I walked further into the hallway, however, I heard sobbing coming from the bathroom. I quickly rushed to the door and hollered —

“Isabelle, is everything okay?”

Her response was a simple two words.

“Run…away….”

A howl of pain came from inside of the room, a scream with a pitch that even my wife could not make. I heard a squishing sound, and out came the most stomach-wrenching, putrid, terrible smell I had ever come across.

I kicked down the door and immediately regretted it. Inside of the room was a…well…how can I even put this…amalgamation of Isabelle. She looked to be in serious pain, and I saw a weird blob stuck on the back of her neck. Her limbs were twisting in ways I’d never believed to be possible, and I could’ve sworn the smile she, er, IT, had given me was just a little too wide for a human. Her clothes were torn. Extra limbs were growing out of her body in places that shouldn’t be possible. It looked at me and then let out an ear-piercing shriek that rang throughout the entire house.

That snapped me out of my fear, sprinting away, not even looking back. It didn’t take long for the thing to give chase, however; I heard the sounds of many feet thumping on the ground at a fast pace. I skidded around the corner of the hallway and burst out of the door with the grace of a swan with vertigo. After picking myself up, I saw the creature standing at the edge of the doorway staring at me unmoving, unblinking, ever smiling.

I took a deep breath, slowly backing away…. My God, crap, shit…. Please don’t come at me.. Every second took a lifetime, one step backward at a time. It just kept looking…. At me. With that twisted smile….

….Finally, away from its line of sight! I got up from the ground and rushed over to the town hall, hoping to find some help, someone, anyone!

When I arrived, I saw everyone there. They were chatting, and then it hit me: it was the annual town brunch that day! As I ran in, though, my heart nearly dropped…. I noticed the weird blob thing on the back of all of their necks. One by one, the blob things started to squirm and squelch, while each person didn’t even bat an eye to them. Then they dropped what they were holding, letting out horrifying shrieks as they each transformed into that…that same thing — just like Isabelle!One of them looked at me with that way-too-wide smile and then lunged at me! No! No! Stop! No! I felt it tear out my insides as it took one chomp after another — and another — and another! Please! My intestines fell out and then got swallowed like it was just one giant noodle of spaghetti for the beast.

Then…. It aimed for my face!

— A jolt woke me up. I almost forgot to breathe.

I was on the bench in front of the museum, and it was still dark. I checked my watch: 4:50 AM. What the hell was that? Was I asleep that long? Sighing, I got up and opened the door to my car.

“What a really wacky dream that was….” I said.

***

The next morning, Isabelle — thank God, she was alive…. — allowed me to sleep in, and when I woke up there was breakfast waiting on my bed. After a hearty meal of waffles and eggs, I walked down the stairs and saw Isabelle sitting at the counter eating breakfast like normal.

After that weird nightmare, though…. Nothing felt normal. I couldn’t help it: I kept staring at the back of her neck. And I knew it…. I wasn’t crazy….

There was a small little blob attached to it.

Now that it wasn’t as dark, I managed to get an amazing glimpse of it. It was veinous and flesh-like in color and composure, but it throbbed and oozed a weird tan liquid. Of course, being the sensible person I am, I dashed up to my room, and barricaded the door….

***

So this leads us to where I am now, writing this. I don’t know when they’re going to break through. I hear them slamming on the door right now, my bed moving with every time they try to enter. My heart is pounding. The back of my neck? Throbbing. Don’t know how much longer I can hold on. But I can make sure…. To warn everyone else. Not going to die in vain. Not going to die in vain.

The blobs on the back of their necks are bad! Wait, why am I saying this? No one seems to notice them anyway. I’m just going mad crazy, but that’s okay — better to be crazy than dead, right? Right? Right! So here’s what you need to do — stay out of Akaterville! Better yet, block off the damn exit! Hope and pray they’re not already outside the city limits! Run for your fucking life if you see any of those multi-limbed beasts!

And man…. My neck still hurts!

So these words go to all those who are still alive…. And human. Whatever you do….

Run…. Away….

Bedroom Horrors

An Anonymous Creepypasta

Before we begin, I’d just like to fill you in on a few details. First, my name is Kurt Hafford. Second, I am not crazy. I don’t care what you think. I am not insane.. psycho.. mentally ill. I am perfectly fine no matter how you judge me. Let’s begin. It was a bright Saturday, the middle of summer. Everything was changing, none of it good.

My father had lost his job, my mother was going through several anxiety attacks. We had to move out of house to a smaller beat down old house, in the middle of no-where. I was going to be transferred to a beat down old school, my parent’s had to sell most of my thing’s just to get by. It was all so horrible, but you just wait. It’s just all.. horrible. I was sitting in my room, staring around.

Boxes everywhere, I couldn’t even remember what my room used to look like. I gathered my items, and moved it into the loading truck. My father stared at me, a gloomy look on his face. After a few hours of driving, we arrived at our old crap-pile of a house. I moved inside, my mother showing me to my room. As I began to unpack, I noticed a few things;

The room was substantially smaller than all the other room’s in the house, and the hardwood floor had a much thicker texture then the rest of the rooms. Examining closely, it looked like a really bad paint job. Funny. I don’t recall many paint jobs on flooring.

Time passed and as I unpacked my things, light began to slowly dissipate from the one-windowed room. I walked down into our kitchen, something reeking of rotten meat. My mother said we were ordering out for dinner and eating in the backyard. We went out, a small shed in the back, and a few chairs. Everybody ate their dinner in silence. When we were done, I took a quick shower, put on my clothes, and laid in bed, my door closed. I shut my eyes for what seemed like a second.

Upon opening, I noticed the one window had a bright shining light, gazing onto the floor. As I looked down, I saw it. I froze instantly, not moving a muscle, holding my breath. He sat on the floor, his hands shackled up with chains. A man, a tall man. More of a shadow. I couldn’t see much, just his dark reflection. I wanted to scream, to yell, to let out everything inside. But I couldn’t… I just froze.

The man suddenly looked at me, I saw two red eyes gleam out of that head. I will never forget those eyes. I closed my own eyes, trying to make it so he wouldn’t notice me. I opened them again, the man was gone, there was no light coming from the window. I shut my eyes, trying to think it was a dream. Upon opening again, it seemed like it was morning. I sat up, rubbing my eyes as I walked down to the kitchen, the horrible smell gone. After breakfast, my father asked me to go check out the shed to see if the old owners left anything behind. I walked out into the backyard, moving towards the shed. It was padlocked heavily, a chain around the front door.

I told my father, and he handed me his work-axe, telling me to chop it off. The lock came off easily as I slowly creaked open the shed door. I moved inside, staring in. Everything fell away. It was dark.. the room shrunk. I felt like something had just hit the pit of my stomach, I wanted to throw up. I stared forward and I saw them. The man who was chained up in my “dream.” Except this time, he had someone with him. A woman. Someone a bit shorter, also chained up. I began to notice something. The man was seeming to have the exact features as my father. The woman was about as tall as my mother. I moved forward, clutching the axe. The darkness took me over again. It was all over. Everything was better now. Everything.

Suspect name: Kurt Hafford

Victim name: Susy and Johnathan Hafford.

Area: Vermont, Michigan.

Crime: First degree murder of two victims.

Recent report:

The suspect, Kurt Hafford was charged with murder of both his parents. Upon arrest, Kurt was found with a bloody axe, believed to be owned by his father, Johnathan Hafford. Kurt was found to have a past record of mental inability, severe nightmares, and was prescribed 30 doses of ibuprofen daily. Kurt was admitted to a mental ward, sentenced for life. Kurt’s room was searched and several bloody chains were found. Other victims could not be found upon searching.

The Goblin of Northern Michigan

An Anonymous Creepypasta

My grandmother, Zelda, owns a beautifully modest country home in the woods of northern Michigan. It’s considerably secluded, with the nearest neighbor being around a mile away. In place of a neighborhood is an inspiring view from the back enclosed balcony, which looks out over a gentle grassy slope lying before an oblong lake. All of it is surrounded, almost choked, by a mixture of coniferous and deciduous trees, the former being more common. Out front, her long paved driveway extends to meet the seldom traveled country road.

All in all, it’s quiet and charming — fitting for the old lady, whose only companion is her black tabby cat, Beethoven, and during recent summers, myself, who I will call Jill.

I began to visit my grandmother Zelda when I was thirteen, having begun to take violin lessons from her (my parents having decided that it would be much cheaper than hiring a professional tutor). That aside, I have to say that her home overwhelmed me upon my first visit. Never in my life had I seen such natural beauty, as previously I’d lived only in urban Grand Rapids and, later and currently, Traverse City. I was in love with the place, and spent much of my time when not practicing my violin on the back deck or on the quaint beach. The two first summers flew by, and at the end of both I was sad to go when my parents came to pick me up.

I’ve said that my grandmother’s place is beautiful and pure, but there’s something more. Part of what overwhelmed me when I first visited the place was an innate sense of strangeness that I couldn’t precisely pinpoint. It wasn’t the house. That was and still is perfectly normal in every respect. My first thought was that the woods were what unsettled me, or the isolation, or the quiet. It was all so new to me, so I chalked it up to a simple form of dendrophobia.

But that subtle unease persisted all through the first summer, and was at its strongest at nightfall. In particular, I can freshly remember lying awake at night in my bed and staring toward the screen window, half anticipating something to appear in it and gaze in at me. Nothing ever did, of course, but the abstract worry was still there. When I left at the end of August, the unease died down over the school year, but on my return in the following June, it came back just as strongly and lasted all through that summer, too.

I recall spotting something small scurrying by the lakeshore at dawn sometime in mid July, but the early light and my sleepiness made me reconsider my sighting after the thing apparently vanished into the water. That was the sole strange incident of that second summer.

This story isn’t about those first two summers. This story is about the third and most recent summer, and the one which has convinced me to never return to those woods in northern Michigan, or in the very least not the area surrounding my grandmother Zelda’s home. Even at the cost of my free violin lessons, I’m determined to not go back again.

That June began as usual. My parents dropped me off at my grandmother’s house, we all sat inside and drank tea and caught up on each other’s most recent business, and then they left. I spent some time after my parents left questioning whether my grandmother ever felt uncomfortable alone in those woods — it was the first time that I’d ever thought to ask, since in previous years I’d been more of an unquestioning kid. To my discontent, she answered that she hadn’t, in fact, ever felt even slightly at unease. She didn’t waver in the slightest when giving her answer.

Up until the third week, everything was normal. Admittedly, I spent less time playing my violin in favor of wandering the treeline (but never straying far from the house), but that didn’t bother my grandmother, who remarked that she was happy to see me outside and enjoying the natural surroundings rather than staying cooped up practicing or writing. I did enjoy being outdoors there, I learned — and some of that old unease finally started to melt away the more that I familiarized myself with the land.

And then Beethoven disappeared.

He sneaked out sometime during the night through the screen window in my room. Neither my grandmother or myself knew until the morning, when I discovered the gaping hole clawed into it. I showed it to my grandma after I heard her calling for Beethoven in another room, and then we both came to the unexpected conclusion that he had escaped. It was completely unlike him, she commented. Beethoven had been an indoor cat ever since he was a kitten, and after being neutered he was rendered even more deeply passive to the outdoors.

We called off the violin lessons for that day and instead spent time searching for Beethoven, first around the lakeshore and then a little way into the woods. We accepted defeat when the sun started to set at close to ten o’clock at night. My grandmother retreated first, calmly announcing that she would prepare tea for me to have once I returned. I stayed outside for a while longer, sad at the loss and pitifully willing to keep looking.

At the time, I thought that the dim lighting was interfering with my sight, but I saw an unnatural white furry form scramble from behind one tree to another. It caught me off-guard and spiked my curiosity (while at the same time reviving my apprehension about the place), and in an instinctive response I ventured to the tree where the scruffy form settled — and discovered, to my immense surprise, Beethoven. The squeaky cry that he let out surprised me but relieved me at the same time, although something was markedly different about his sleek black coat (perhaps a touch of white that I hadn’t noticed before?). It wasn’t readily placeable, but I cast that aside in my relief.

I returned to my grandmother’s house with the good news, delighting her greatly. The remainder of the night passed without incident. I drank a cup of tea, ate a light dinner, and then went to bed (making certain to shut my window so that mosquitos wouldn’t enter through the hole in the screen). That night, as I lay falling asleep, I noticed a twinge of discomfort rising again, but it felt somehow closer.

Beethoven vanished again the next week. Another night of searching, and he turned up sitting on the front porch… with blood on his face, and a few torn feathers in his mouth. I reeled in disgust, as did my grandmother, who hastily took to wiping the foul remnants from his mouth. Things continued this way for the rest of July. Beethoven would disappear into thin air every now and then, always returning at nightfall with some grisly trophy, be it blood, a feather or two, or the paw of a squirrel or chipmunk. Once, he returned with an eerie tuft of black fur, the origin of which we couldn’t place.

“I guess he’s just had a change of heart,” my grandmother Zelda said uncertainly.

Only once did I catch Beethoven in the act of sneaking out, and only once did I follow. It’s important for me to note that this was, as far as I know, the only instance where Beethoven escaped in the night, and also the only one where he escaped while in my plain sight on the balcony. My grandma was already asleep, and I had just finished my violin solo, when Beethoven crept stealthily through the open door and strolled past me before effortlessly descending the steps to the ground, and seemingly being absorbed into the woods in my sight.

I decided to follow, leaving my violin behind and grabbing a flashlight.

The trek through the woods was perilous in slippers, but I managed anyway. Every now and then, I thought I caught a glimpse of Beethoven somewhere ahead, and sometimes — never while observing Beethoven — I saw a tiny white blur in the corner of my eye, only to see nothing when I focused on it acutely. Eventually, I started to notice tints of dark redness on the leaves of ground-covering plants, and a feather or tiny bone here and there. My breathing pacened alongside my heartbeat as the unease flowered.

I haven’t seen anything as horrible as what I found in a small artificial clearing that night. Just when I thought I’d finally caught up with Beethoven, I stumbled upon something infinitely worse — it was an area where whatever miscellaneous leaves and plants that had covered the ground had been swept away, and the soil had been deliberately flattened. Also present were miniature structures of sticks and pebbles, comparable to little shrines. Under a nearby tree root, I spied what appeared to be the entrance of a den. But what adorned this clearing is what horrified me and still does.

In short: a menagerie of animal remains, from rodents to birds to even fish. Small bones and skulls were scattered about in various stages of decay, with feathers and fur intermittently placed. Among the vile mess, I saw an incomplete black form — the rotting corpse of Beethoven. Chills ran through my body. There was no logic or reason. Then, when all else had ceased to make sense, there came the sound of rustling behind me. I swung around to see, shining my flashlight beam on Beethoven, whose back was arched in a show of contempt. I screamed, and as I did so, his body transformed before my eyes.

The noise was awful as his body twisted into something unrecognizable but somehow familiar, popping and gurgling — but it all made sense to me as I watched that single white spot in his fur overtake his whole shrinking body until he was a pure white ball of fuzz. That wasn’t all, though. It had tiny limbs with smaller jagged nails, and an unmistakably human face, however scaled down and distorted.

It was a goblin.

I dropped my flashlight then, and I think that it’s a good thing that I did, because I feel that that goblin wasn’t able to see in the dark, and carrying that flashlight would have given my location away as I sprinted through the woods, losing both slippers along the frantic way. As I ran, I heard the disturbing grunts of the thing coming and going, near and then far, but it never found me. I didn’t say a word to my grandmother when I returned. I didn’t even wake her. The only thing that I did was close the balcony door tightly, shut and lock every window I could access, and laid down and shivered under the blankets of my bed while a painfully regular tapping commenced at my window and out of my sight.

That next morning, I informed my grandmother that I wished to leave. I couldn’t give her a forward reason when she asked why, and to this day I still feel awful for making her feel so hurt. But I was left with no other choice, because that morning, she let Beethoven back inside. He stared at me later that day as I made the phone call to my parents.

I don’t dare tell my poor grandmother Zelda what happened in those woods. I only pray that nothing comes to harm her, while regretfully understanding that if anything bad comes of the situation, it’s more or less my fault. Those mysterious northern Michigan woods — I don’t know what to make of them anymore.

—

Thank you for listening. If you enjoyed these stories, head on over to my website at www.scarystorytime.com and make a comment or follow me on social media by searching for Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time. I’d like to invite you to my YouTube channel where you can find me chatting about stories, Sandcastle and all things horror at youtube.com/spookybooscarystorytime. We get together on most Saturday nights at 6:00 PM Pacific for a few hours to talk about everything and anything. I’d love to see you there.

That’s all for tonight. I’ll see you in your nightmares.