CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio
Mar 21, 2026 · 1 hr 17 min · 20 segments
CREEPYPASTA STORY►by frequent-cat: / frequent-cat Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of…
Ethan and I hadn't spoken in almost six years, not properly anyway.
There had been the occasional message from him, a text every now and then, a Facebook notification where he tagged a few of us in something.
I hadn't replied to most of them.
It wasn't because I hated him, nothing like that.
It was just easier not to, especially when I knew what the conversation would eventually turn into.
It always did.
The last message he'd sent me was about eight months ago.
I remember it clearly because I stared at it for a long time before deciding not to respond.
"Do you remember exactly what happened that day in the woods?" No hello, no catching up, just that.
I closed the message and told myself I'd respond later, but I forgot.
Marcus sent another message a few minutes later with the funeral information.
It was happening that Saturday back in town.
I almost didn't go.
The idea of driving back there after so long made my stomach knot up in a way I couldn't quite explain, but something about the message Marcus had sent kept sticking with me.
"They're saying suicide." Something about that didn't sit right.
It's not like Ethan didn't seem happy or stable or anything like that.
The truth was, I had no idea what Ethan's life looked like anymore.
But the Ethan I remembered wasn't someone who would just quietly disappear.
If anything, he was the one who refused to let things stay buried, especially that.
Saturday came faster than I expected.
Ethan and I hadn't spoken in almost six years, not properly anyway.
There had been the occasional message from him, a text every now and then, a Facebook notification where he tagged a few of us in something.
I hadn't replied to most of them.
It wasn't because I hated him, nothing like that.
It was just easier not to, especially when I knew what the conversation would eventually turn into.
It always did.
The last message he'd sent me was about eight months ago.
I remember it clearly because I stared at it for a long time before deciding not to respond.
"Do you remember exactly what happened that day in the woods?" No hello, no catching up, just that.
I closed the message and told myself I'd respond later, but I forgot.
Marcus sent another message a few minutes later with the funeral information.
It was happening that Saturday back in town.
I almost didn't go.
The idea of driving back there after so long made my stomach knot up in a way I couldn't quite explain, but something about the message Marcus had sent kept sticking with me.
"They're saying suicide." Something about that didn't sit right.
It's not like Ethan didn't seem happy or stable or anything like that.
The truth was, I had no idea what Ethan's life looked like anymore.
But the Ethan I remembered wasn't someone who would just quietly disappear.
If anything, he was the one who refused to let things stay buried, especially that.
Saturday came faster than I expected.
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