#Creepypasta dungeon crawl stone soup full#

The alarm was raised some 6 hours later when the lights came on and Micah was nowhere to be seen.ģ days later, Micah’s body was discovered within the run-down shack.

#Creepypasta dungeon crawl stone soup full#

Micah had decided that he was going to venture beyond the borders and go near the Coyle plot, knowing full well that all of us in Minoesha were told repeatedly to avoid it. Parents either weren’t as aware of the dangers in rural communities or they simply didn’t pay as much attention. Micah Duponse was a very outgoing kid, and this being the 90s, was given a lot more freedom to do so than nowadays. Amid the rationalization in my own mind, this voice stood out and felt like it was urging me in its own way to take those tentative steps back and away from the family plot.īut someone else in the town lacked the same kind of voice I had.Īnd it was the first time I got scared of it. “Great tragedy will befall the next person to go into those woods.” It sounded almost somber, melancholy in its tone. Besides…”Ī strong wind blew from the depths of the woods and rattled the rotted wooden foundations, threatening to unearth secrets buried in the soil.

“It’s too far, and your parents will get mad. I remember this was the first instance where I could recall the shape and rhythm of the voice inside me. My inner voice would always warn me not to go to the Coyle family plot that bordered on Minoesha and the nearby woods. There weren’t many families around and my folks were isolationists, said that Sturgeons big cities had plenty of evil within them, that their god wasn’t the right god, and if we wanted to eke out a safe living, it’d be here, off the land. The voice would soothe me in bed as I healed, sobbing into my pillow as my Father stormed out to “get some air”, usually only returning days later in a trancelike state.īeing an only child, I spent a lot of my time either playing make-believe in my room with my Transformers and Lego, traversing fantastical worlds on my DreamCast, or exploring the vast fields that surrounded our little village of Minoesha, just next to Mantis Bay. If my dad came home drunk and decided to take his anger out on my mom, my inner voice would advise me of the safest places to hide and tell me stories or replay songs to cover up the horrible sounds. I don’t recall the shape or tone of it as a child, just that it was a good confidant when things got rough. My inner voice was always prominent as I grew up. Or maybe agonizing, depending on who you talk to. No guiding voice through their actions, reminding them of the tasks for the day or even helping them run through problems in their mind. So it was a shock when I found out that it’s likely a third of the population has no idea what that is like.

But something we could take from our own voice and turn into that of a celebrity, a cartoon character or whatever we wished. A little disembodied narrator that, when unfocused, sounded familiar yet not. I used to think everyone had an inner voice.