Creepypasta & r/nosleep Stories

The Crawling House on Black Pond Road

"You get the reward of my company for a weekend in some rat hole."

"I guess that's better than what I had planned."

BlackPond Road. That's a hell of a name. Her house looked like it was going to collapse. It was one floor, one large living room connected to a tiny kitchen and two tiny bedrooms. The bathroom was practically a closet. There was a screened porch off the side lookin out into woods.

It was after 1 in the morning when we got there. I remember suggestin we sleep in the car just in case the house collapsed. Tom pulled out a flashlight, we gathered our bedrolls and backpacks and went inside. I was

the floor moved

It was dark, but when Tom shone his light in, I swore it looked for a moment like the floor... moved. Fuck that floor. It was the kitchen. Greasy, stained white tiles. Everything in that room was greasy and stained. Even the windows. They were so gross, the reflected light from Tom's flashlight came back like a mustardy puke yellow.

Was it clicking? Tapping. I can't describe it, but the feeling when we walked in was like a couple crashers walking into a chatty party and everyone stopping what they were saying and lookin at us. Almost the faintest echo of a final sound, like a hundred fingernails tapping on a tabletop and then quiet.

"Did you hear that?" I asked.

"No."

We shoulda slept in the car.

My room was like a prison cell attached to the living room. Tom's room was only accessible from the screened porch. I took a look in and told him we should switch.

"If I'm not getting paid, at least give me the nicer room."

"You don't want this room, this is the room she hung herself in." We just stood there for a bit.

"The only thing missing from my room are bars on the window."

"That's so you can escape when her ghost comes for us."

"A ghost wouldn't be caught dead here."

I went and unrolled my sleeping bag on the tiny bed in my room, then climbed in and lay there in the dark. After a while of everything bein quiet, I started hearin this sound. It was like chittering. And buzzing. Fucking mosquitoes, that's what I thought. I pulled the sleeping bag over my head and tucked it under me to keep anything out.

God

If I hadn't been so tired.

Somethin bit me. On the web of skin between my fingers. I woke up and was instantly in pain all over my legs, like a hundred needle pricks. And my feet felt like I was standing in the sand at the beach with the water coming in and the mud squishing between my toes. I jerked out of the sleeping bag and fell on the floor. I hurt my chin on somethin, I don't know what. I got up yelling and checking my hand. There was a tiny red dot of a bug bite between my index and middle finger. And then I looked at my legs and they were dotted like a bad case of chicken pox. Hundreds of little bite marks. And I looked at my sleeping bag and

bugs

just skitterin out of the bag like

It was a stream of them, crawlin over each other. Earwigs. Hundreds of earwigs slithering out of the bag I'd been sleeping in. And house centipedes with them, wiggling along. This just tide of glistening bodies crawling out of the bag with me. I felt like I was going to puke and I ran from the room, slamming the door shut.

It was morning. I went out through the porch and into Tom's room and shook him til he made a sound.

"Get out. You gotta get out of your bag."