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They Come Home To Roost



Estimated reading time — 6 minutes

This farm has been in my family for two generations. I’ve always enjoyed the peace and solitude since I was a boy, just me and my folks. Now, there’s just me. They died a few years back, leavin’ the place to me and I’ve been doing my best to keep enough cash coming in to pay the taxes on the land (though why anybody’d want this place but me these days is beyond me). My grandpa was kind of a recluse and wanted a ‘fair piece o’ distance’ between us and the city slickers as he called them. It’s about 15 miles to the nearest town, down a couple worn ruts in the woods, that turn into a strip more dirt than road, before it finally hits the rural route to town. The old joke about ‘You know you’re a redneck when directions to your house start with: After you turn off the paved road…’? Yeah, that always used to kill him.

Sorry, its getting hard to concentrate, mind wanders. I’m leaving this recording on the off chance someone from town notices I haven’t stopped by for a bit and sends the law down this way to check on me. My advice to you is leave now, while you still can. I know it sounds crazy, but.. its true. First thing I noticed was wrong was a couple nights ago, when Sammy, that’s my dog, started barkin up a storm in the middle of the night. Not too surprisin’, we live like I said, way out at the ass end o’ nowhere, and there’s possums and raccoons and a few wild dogs livin out in the woods and sometimes they come on my land to try thier luck. Anyhow, Sammy’s a good dog and just a few snarls from him is usually enough to convince most critters to hightail it back into the trees. But that night, there was something different. It was like he was crazy or something, snarling and yelping like mad. Not a bark, mind you, a yelp. Y’all with dogs know what I mean, that kinda noise they make when they’re caught someplace between territorial anger and fear.

I grabbed my jeans, shoved my feet into an old pair of workboots and grabbed my shotgun figurin’ something bigger might be about. This ain’t bear country but in lean times I’ve seen a wolf or two pacing the edge of the fence, testin’ the water so to speak. Once I seen a cat, almost as big as Sammy out there, I shit you not. I dunno what it was, maybe a cougar or something, you’d have to ask a hunter, which to Daddy’s disappointment I never turned out to be much of. Slaughtering a chickens ot the occasional pig was as far as I went and I ain’t ever been comfortable even with that much.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Sammy and the chickens. Like I said, I went runnin’ out in the dark but there was enough of a decent moon to see a bit and the ruckus started up in the coop. It’s around the back of the barn, and anybody who knows chickens knows why we kept that coop as far from our open windows as possible. There I am on the front porch, and Sammy’s straining his tether, but he’s all hunched down, tail between his legs but he’s still raising all kinds of hell. I figure somethings going after the chickens, and I decide to leave him tied for the moment, cuz he just didn’t look right, muzzle all foamy like he was rabid. Anyhow, I ran out to the barn and grabbed my flashlight and the chickens are squawkin’ enough to raise the dead. Heh. I come out the back door and by the flashlight I see somethings torn a big-ass hole in the chickenwire fence and there’s blood and feathers everywhere. By the time I had the latch unhooked the noise was already dyin down, so I knew whatever got in there found what it wanted and left, probably while I was still on the porch. I took a deep breath and went on in, seein’ a few dead hens with bite marks in ’em. I made a quick count and one was gone. Likely a wild dog or a fox, I thought. I spent a few minutes carryin’ them out and chucked ’em out behind the coop, figurin’ I’d bury them after it was light. The hens settled down by then and I went on back to the house, stoppin’ to pet Sammy, lettin’ him know he did his job. He was layin’ down by then, tail still under him. He whined at me, but let me scratch him, and I went back to bed.

I raised up around sunrise, and after breakfast, headed back to the barn to bury the chickens and mend the fence, more than a little pissed about it cause I already had a ton to do out in the field. There’s always the W’s to do out here: weeding, watering and whatnot as Daddy used to say. I had enough to jury-rig a cover for the hole, but it was gonna take a trip to town to get more wire to do it right. As I walked out to the truck, I paused, realizing what I hadn’t heard yet. Sammy usually gives a little noise at least but I hadn’t heard a thing this mornin’. His tether was chewed clean through and I didn’t have enough time to hunt him down. That’d be another couple hours lost, and he’s big enough to handle himself, I figured.

It was well after noon by the time I got back, and there was still no sign of Sammy. I tried not to worry too much, knowing he’d come back once he got hungry. I finished fixing the coop fence and spread thier feed, but they seemed like they weren’t interested. I figured the scare and the blood smell made ’em skittish enough to wanna stay in the coop a while longer. Hell, they’ll eat when they’re hungry too, I thought. I went into the barn and grabbed my shovel to go bury the hens, but they weren’t there. Now I’m thinking the smell of blood mighta made Sammy a little feral and he grabbed ’em for a snack out in the woods. Fine by me, long as he came back, its one less thing I had to deal with. It was about an hour till sundown and I was bone tired by the time my chores were done and I was starting to get a little worried with Sammy still not coming back. I could hear rustling from time to time back in the shade of the woods, but it was too deep and dim to see him. I called him a few times, and the rustling came closer but after while I gave up and went on in. He’d already had something to eat, and I hadn’t.

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The larder was pretty bare, and much as it galled me, I knew I’d have to slaughter another hen, and soon while it was still light out. When it rains it pours, right? With a weary sigh, I went back out to the barn once again, stopping for my hatchet. It was near sundown when I got to the coop, and I could still hear the damn dog rompin’ around in the woods, but it was louder and closer now, so at least he was happy and near. As I opened the door, though, the smell damn near made me gag. It was always bad but never anything like THAT. I held my breath as best as I could and went in. The first thing that hit me, other than the smell, was the silence in the darkened coop. What little light there was reflected in thier little beady eyes, but none of them moved. Not a flutter, not a cluck, nothin’ but those eyes watching me. I grabbed a decent sized hen and got the hell out of there, before I panicked or puked, one.

The hen didn’t struggle at all when I put in on the block, just lay there. Lookin’ at me. I raised my hatchet, took a breath and swung, one good clean chop. The body dropped away from the head and took off, wobbling unsteadily while I waited for the damn thing to realize it was dead and drop. What came out of the hole though wasn’t blood, more like some black, gooey crap that looked foul and smelled worse. And it just kept moving. The longer it wobbled around the yard the more unnerved I felt. Dear god, how long had it already been? That was when I felt it. I yelped and looked down at my hand, seeing the damned head had bitten a plug out it. I sucked on the wound, reflexively, as the eyes continued to watch my movement.

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The last of the light had begun to drain away, and I heard the rustling in the coop as the rest of the chickens began to stir. I swallowed and the blood from my hand burned on the way down, dropping me to my knees as I retched and gagged. As I knelt there dry heaving, the rest of the chicken streaked toward me, little taloned feet clawing at me in a blind fury. The other hens had reached the door of the coop by then and dozens of eyes now gazed at me hungrily. I crawled to the gate, keeping the maniacal, headless corpse back by swinging my hatchet as the others slowly moved forward. On the other side of it was Sammy, but it wasn’t him either. I just started screaming and swinging wildly, thinking if I could reach the shelter of my house I would be okay, but my hand was growing numb and streaks of black were already creeping up my wrist. I was covered in that black goo by the time I slammed the door shut behind me, leaving me in a silence only broken by my gasping breath and the scratching and pecking at the door.

I fumbled for my old tape recorder, knowing by the coldness in my left arm, and the thickness of my tongue it was too late for me, but it’s not too late for you. If you’re listening to this then run. Don’t look around, especially if it’s getting dark. It’s a long way to town and the rustling in the woods is only getting louder, and sick as I feel, I’m gettin’ kinda hungry…


Credited to Questioner, inspired by Redd and TheCoffinDancer.

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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.

79 thoughts on “They Come Home To Roost”

  1. I had to laugh when he said the farm had been in his family for … TWO generations. Wow, that long. Then he mentioned his grandfather, so he meant three.

    People who live in really rural areas by preference don’t actually think of it as the ass end of nowhere, and they don’t use the term “city slicker.” Take it from an actual hillbilly.

  2. Good pasta, but unfortunately the ad for poultry and livestock supplies up at the top kind of ruined it for me…

  3. Nice and very creepily written, but I was disappointed by the reveal that it basically was just zombie hickens. I was hoping for something more interesting. Zombies just aren’t scary anymore. They’re too much of a known quantity.

  4. I know this is a kinda dumb, but chickens aren’t scared of blood. They are cannibalistic and drawn to it. A real farmer would know that -w-

  5. When I clicked on this thing on the random posts thing I thought that there would be chickens overpopulating the world

  6. Hmm. Zombie chickens. Well then.

    Points for individuality, then. And the writing wasn’t all that bad either…It just wasn’t what I would really call ‘scary’.

    It’s not quite forgettable, but it doesn’t make me want to flip out, bar my doors, and add the pasta to my favorites list.
    Still. I don’t see zombies much in creepypasta, and this was pretty good.

  7. A good story, everybody has already pointed out the flaws in this, but very, very good. Zombie chickens. Hmm… Also, the black goo rings of spiderman three.

    Fear the Darkness

    -Nex

  8. Good idea but it kind of ruined it for me since the story was told through a tape recorder.

    For a tape recorder, especially for a warning to keep away from the farm, the intro was hella long. From a realistic point of view, if i was geniunely concerned about my fellow humans (as the narrator was) i would NOT spend my last few minutes before i would turn into a zombie telling about the history of the farm and yada yada.

    Secondly, the way the story was written in a sort of “rural country-side accent” was very well-done. However, “Daddy”? That’s like a little girl calling her father “Daddy”. I would go more with the word “Pa”.

    “Their” not “thier”.

    Good pasta is still good though. Nicely written.

  9. its always sad when people try to write with a country twang and only remember it about half the time. for the record of all the people i’ve met who talk like that don’t pronounce the “d” in “and”

    otherwise the story was ok

  10. argghhh… I hate it when the dog dies in stories. But this was even worse! = (

    But seriously, this was a damn good story. You can really connect with the main character and feel as if you are in his shoes. Very well told, realistically (narrator went off on tangents and had southern diction) and made it sound like an actual recording. I do doubt that he could tell his story in such a manner if he was slowly being engulfed by black goo and turning into a zombie, but that’s beside the point. It had excellent foreshadowing, but wasn’t glaringly obvious.

    Plus it has zombie chickens which makes it that much better !!

  11. i liked the story but i personally thought the way it was written was pretty poor. why would a guy with his last breathes take so long to tell his story and why would he get side-tracked so often.

    clever idea though

  12. Great story, one of my favorites. Not all that creepy, but I like the writing style. The dog seemed a little left out near the end, but that was the main problem. I didn’t think the story telling should’ve been urgent or anxious, I just assumed that the goo was slowly shutting him down and he was dying a slow, sleepy, nostalgic death as he faded out of consciousness.

  13. I like this quite a bit. It hits a bit close to home for me since I’ve spent a fair amount of time on my grandpa’s farm, which is pretty far out from town (though admittedly other farmers live around the area), all the roads are rock and dirt, he has a lot of woods nearby, he’s seen a large wildcat out there, and the most odd coincidence, he has a dog named Sammy.

  14. Hey guys, if something’s being told from a first person point of view, there’s going to be some things we’re not ever going to know. I’m pretty sure one thing mentioned was where Sammy had been. Well, the narrator was not following Sam, so how’s he supposed to automatically know where he’s been by looking at him. I do agree he could’ve used a bit more details with Sam, though.

    And the whole “calmly telling his story” thing seems sort of normal. I could see myself running inside, trying to calm down, and grabbing a tape recorder for archiving. Remember, he’s on the brink of death, of course he’s going to be a little nostalgic. If we could hear the actual tape, I bet we could hear some sniffling mixed in with his monolouge.

  15. Hmmm. This story didn’t do much for me. I “get” it, but….. nothing. Not creepy and zombie chickens just don’t work for me personally.

  16. This was creepy, entertainingly written, and anybody who says it’s less scary simply because they’re chickens is depressingly cynical. Would it freak you out less in the real world? What would they have to be to make the story scarier? Condors? The corruption of something mundane or even cute and silly is what horror is all about.

  17. *gets infected by zombie chicken blood virus, starts dry-heaving, gets chased by killer zombie chickens*
    *takes out tape recorder*
    *calmly, clearly dictates entire life story*

  18. I think it was a chick rather than a guy. You know how stereotype teenaged girls refer to their dad as daddy?

    I think the pasta was really random when nightfall came and the chicken was going insane.

  19. New site layout = win.
    Also, zombie chickens, I didn’t think it could be written in a way that would make me like the concept.

    : D

  20. Seconding Ben. I feel like the “narrating into a tape recorder/writing in a diary” trope is dangerous territory, unless it’s happening safely after the fact. It’s supposed to add a sense of realism and urgency, and make the story something that could be plausibly occurring, but the writing here seems too casual for someone who’s turning into a zombie, and it just ends up being a distraction from something that’s decently creepy and well-told. I like the writing (although the way he speaks does seem a little inconsistent), and I’d rather suspend disbelief over how the pasta reached us than keep wondering “Why is he telling us the farm’s history when he’s about to go feast on human flesh?”

  21. @Rahhhh!: I thought that too! Thats “The Mortuary”, right? I liked that movie, there was no hero survivor. XP

  22. hmm, at first I thought this was going to be a chupacabra story wich I haven’t seen in a while. Now while the chupacabra storywould’ve been ok, I liked this version of it a hell of alot better. Normally I don’t like it when I have to ask alot of questions but you left a couple of questions in their to leave just enough confusion to make it even scarier. Like just what was that thing that terrorised the chickens or what happened to Sam during the day when he was missing? I rather enjoyed this pasta, and I onl say that about a handful of pastas and very few of them revolve around the “zombie” theme. Good job, and I really mean that, good job.

  23. That was alright, a good setting & characters. The idea of it was great, but the way it was written- a Southern drag, I’m assuming, there were some mishaps in that. In one sentence, you’d be reading in a Southern drag, and then in the next it’d be decent grammar.

    Other than that, it was good. And the new layout looks awesome btw!

  24. Zombie Chickens? Who thought they could be that entertaining? Creepypasta needs to have less zombie chickens in the future.

  25. Holder of the Penis

    I think the creepiest part was where this fully grown man kept referring to his old man as “daddy”.

  26. Nice, creepy and all. The chicken thing kinda made me a bit put off, and the dog coulda used more of a description on his change. Ending is rushed, as always, but it raises tension that way sometimes.

    Nice overall.

    Also the site looks great. ^^

  27. Eh, as previously stated, zombie chickens just aren’t a frightening concept. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t nearly as creepy as some other stories.

  28. A great story. At first I wasn’t distracted by the casual digressing as I felt it added to the story, but when it turned out that he was bitten and turning into a Zombie as well it kind of didn’t make sense that he would digress as there would presumably be a sense of urgency?

    But still, a very well written and entertaining story :D

  29. Kinda reminds me of this movie
    where this woman does autopsies
    and some black goo takes over her and brings back the dead bodies in her basement. And she chases her son and his friends and tries to kill them.

    Anyway, I like this story :D

  30. It’s entertaining I suppose… But why would he get distracted if his life was threatened. You’d think that he’d try and stay on topic…

  31. i liked it. not very spooky but entertaining to read

    i think it was the way he would just casually digress into another story

    1. He becomes whatever the chickens and his dog became after somthing bit them. in a sense, yeah, a zombie but not like a flesh eating one. just a monster

    2. I kind of thought this would be about aliens or ancient beings like unexplained human/animal monsters. glad this one did better than that 9/10

    1. In my opinion, birds are freaking terrifying. I mean you can get used to working with them but in the end their body language is so weird and different that I am always uncomfortable.

      I am actually less afraid of zombies. But the combination of these damn birds kinda got to me.

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