ITSY BITSY SPIDER | “Artist’s Asylum” ft. Dead Meat James | Crypt TV Extended Universe | Creepypasta

(intense ominous music) – [Narrator] The doctor
had never encountered a patient like this one before. While most of the patients in the asylum heard voices whispering
to them from the dark, or saw imaginary of monsters
and demons circling them, this patient, Wallach, he always appeared to
be calm and collected. A pen in hand, scribbling,
keepin’ to himself never causin’ any trouble for the nurses. Of course, when Dr. Eccleston
imagined Wallach’s drawings, it wasn’t the prettiest sight to behold. The man loved to draw,
spiders, thousands of ’em, crisscross and over each
other, infesting the paper their eight eyes gleaming,
their fangs wet with venom, their clawed legs, over and over large and small that’s all Wallach drew. But as long as the patient didn’t share his disturbing
artwork with other patients, Dr. Eccleston didn’t see any harm in it. Until today. Today, when the doctor
entered Wallach’s room, his mouth dropped in disbelief. Every single inch of the
room was covered in marker, drawings of spiders were on the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. He had apparently been
stealing and hoarding pens from the nurse’s station for weeks, all so he could leave
his mark on the asylum. But, why? The drawings reminded Dr.
Eccleston of the old nursery rhyme his mother used to sing him
when he was just a child, trailin’ her fingertips up his
arms, givin’ him goosebumps, she would softly sing ♪ The itsy bitsy spider ♪ ♪ Went up the water spout ♪ Then at the next word, his
mother would lower her voice and grab him. Down! It always scared him, it always made him jump. Even now, he felt like
he could hear her voice reverberating in this patient’s room, feel her fingertips
like the legs of spiders crawling up his skin
all theses years later. The doctor felt an itch
and looked down at his hand he saw one, a spider, and he yelped in terror
slapping his wrist, but it was just a black smudge of marker. Huh, how had that gotten there? No matter, Dr. Eccleston knew
it was just a coincidence, marker on the walls, marker on his skin. His mother’s old nursery
rhyme couldn’t hurt him now. He would get to the bottom of this patient’s acts of vandalism. After the nurses removed Wallach, taking him to the ECT room for treatment, the doctor examined the
patient’s room more closely. At first, nothin’ else seemed amiss, but then the doctor felt it, a prickling along the nape of his neck, like he was being watched. Every time the doctor turned his head, it almost felt as if the
spiders on the wall behind him were moving, creeping, crawling. But when the doctor spun
around to catch them, they were still. Simply theses scribbles
of a raving lunatic. Heh, who’s going mad now? And then he noticed it. The sketched spider right in front of him, a tarantula from the hairy look of it, appeared to be bleeding. Dr. Eccleston squinted, stepping forward, bringing a finger to the droplet of blood, wondering if somehow
Wallach had cut himself. But as he touched the
blood, the wall cracked open and more blood began to drip down. Down!
(intense ominous music) Again, he heard his mother’s
distant voice signing, screeching that word as the blood poured out the wall gushing. The doctor backed away, horrified, as the floor became covered with blood, rising, developing his
feet, then his trousers up to his knees. Soon, it would swallow
him whole, he realized, he would drown in the blood. He opened his mouth to scream when… “Dr. Eccleston, are you all right?” He blinked, turning to
see one of the nurses looking at him funny in the doorway. When he returned his gaze to
the drawing of the tarantula, the blood was gone, but how? He wasn’t insane, he wasn’t! No, Dr. Eccleston was the
one who helped the insane and this, this vision of
blood, whatever it was, must have just been his imagination getting carried away, that’s all. “I’m fine.” Dr. Eccleston muttered, shaking it off. “Is the patient ready?” The nurse nodded. It was time to see to Wallach for himself. When he stepped into the ECT room, he found Wallach on a gurney,
his hands and feet bound, his head already covered in wires, prepared for the treatment. He looked at the doctor,
pale and pleading, “I need a pen, doctor.” He said, “Please let me
draw, I need to draw.” “I’m afraid not, Mr. Wallach.” The doctor said walking
over to the machine and making sure the levels were correct. “We’re going to administer
electric shock therapy “to calm your nerves.” Dr. Eccleston took the rubber bite block and was about to force
it inside Wallach’s mouth when he noticed the marker
smudge on his hand again, moving, withering on his skin. Down! His mother’s voice screamed again. The doctor jumped dropping
the rubber bite block he took a breath. It was just a simple smudge,
the song was just a memory. “Are you all right, doctor?” Wallach asked eyes wide. He picked up the rubber bite block and forced it inside the
patient’s mouth, silencing him. Then he turned to the machine
and slowly turned the knob raising the voltage to a low level. He never enjoyed this part,
watching the hands spasm the feet kick, the eyes
pop out of their heads, the muffled screaming.
(Wallach screaming) But he knew it would be worth it. The patients always
felt at peace afterward. He turned the knob down and removed the rubber bite block allowing Wallach to
pant and regain control of his motor functions. “Do you feel better, Mr. Wallach?” “There’s something on your coat.” Wallach said breathly, pointing with his bond
hand at Dr. Eccleston. The doctor frowned and
looked at his shoulder, his heart nearly stopped at the sight, a spider was crawling on
him, a real spider this time. He jumped and yelled and
brushed it off his coat as quickly as he could, then
he looked at Wallach again, his eyes were glassy and calm,
a small smile on his lips. “I’m starting to remember why
I love to draw now, doctor.” “Why?” The doctor said still a bit spooked, twitching, trying to make sure there weren’t any other
spiders crawling on him. It felt like too great a coincidence, finding a real spider on his coat after seeing all those
drawings, those visions, hearing his mother’s voice
singing to him from he past, but what else was he
supposed to make of it? “I draw the cycles.” The patient replied. “I draw the same thing over and over “to remind myself that everything repeats. “What goes up, goes down. “Once a healer, now the healed and so on. “The same way you always sing that song.” The doctor frowned, what the hell was Wallach talkin’ about? Clearly, he needed another
jolt of electricity from the machine, but as he brought his
hand to the knob again, he saw another one, a spider crawling from his
shirt sleeve to his hand, sinking its fangs into
the skin of his palm. The doctor shrieked, slapping it. All that remained was a dollop of blood. “You see it now don’t you, doctor?” Wallach asked. “Why you’ve really brought me here.” “I don’t see anything!” Dr. Eccleston shouted, unable
to control himself now. “You’re the one who sees
things, you’re the patient! “Not… “Not…” The doctor felt like he was spinning out, losing track of what was
real, because the spiders seemed to be materializing everywhere now, from every corner of the room, from every seam of his clothing, from the patient’s smiling
mouth, all creeping towards him. His mother’s song began
to grow louder and louder, echoing, sounding off key and demonic now. ♪ The itsy bitsy spider ♪ ♪ Went up the water spout ♪ “It’s all right, Dr. Eccleston.” The patient said as he opened his fist, revealing a massive tarantula,
just like the one he’d drawn. “I was where you are now
when I was Dr. Wallach “and you were the patient,
don’t you remember?” Eccleston shook his head
refusing the believe it, but now the spiders were surrounding him, crawling up his legs, too
many to shake off, everywhere, like his mother’s fingernails
all those years ago sinking into him, making him bleed. Her violence, the reason she
was thrown into an asylum and never heard from again. “My drawings, your visions, “they’re simply a
manifestation, Dr. Eccleston.” Wallach said calmly. “A manifestation of the past repeating.” “It’s not real!” Eccleston cried out, collapsing onto the second
gurney besides Wallach’s, trying to fight off
the swarms of arachnids descending upon him, biting and crawling and slipping into any
orifice they could find. “What is happening to me!?” Wallach sat up, his hands and
feet miraculously unbound. He stepped over to a coat rack
and put on a doctor’s coat grabbed a clipboard and looked at Eccleston with genuine pity. “Don’t worry, Mr. Eccleston “I’ll finish the drawing this time. “I will end the song.” ♪ The itsy bitsy ♪ The drawing. ♪ Spider ♪ Dr. Wallach stood over him, watching, holding his clipboard as the patient, Eccleston, kicked and screamed
against his restraints. He was the one tied down now. He was the one with the
wires attached to his head. He was the one about to be electrocuted. “I promise you’ll feel
more at peace after this.” Dr. Wallach said gently
turning to the machine. “Down! “Down!” Eccleston shouted, but
as his mouth opened wide, the spiders poured down
it, filling his insides, eating him from the inside out. He could feel the ones all over his skin, wrapping him in their web now, until he was nothing but a cocoon with only a mouth left to
scream and eyes to see. He saw Dr. Wallach turn
the knob on the dial and as his whole body spasmed
and his brain went quiet, he remembered, he so loved the
sound of his mother’s voice. Dr. Wallach looked down at the
patient completely unharmed, not a single spider bite
anywhere to be seen, blinking up at him,
humming a familiar tune a nursery rhyme, the one about spiders, the one that repeated over
and over like madness itself. No more, today Dr. Wallach
was going to end this cycle. He turned the voltage to its maximum point and watched as the patient
shook uncontrollably a blur frying, his skin burning, shrieking ’til at last
he collapsed upon the bed still, a smokin’ husk, never to be frightened by a
delusion of a spider again. With that, Dr. Wallach grabbed a pen, gave it a double clicked
and left the ECT room. There was more work in
the asylum to be done. (ominous music)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *