Day 8 - Dark Woods Demons & more

the 50-year of Creepboy camp, and a spicy things up, we've teamed up with Torchbearer

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This is Creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepypastors and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened, or most simply fabrication is for you to decide. The stories made in teen graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

“Hey, John. How are you doing? We're doing this, huh?”

Doing what? In intervention. What? What are you talking about? You want to know what's going on with me, right? And since we're going to be leaving here soon, you want to address it so that whatever I have going on with me doesn't build into some sort of insane reveal. It's okay. Where do you want to start with me going off and crying on my own? The traps, the giant web. The fact that we have trinkdarts at all, which, well, Owen can get a little

carried away, seems like a pretty dubious explanation for their existence, or the extra steps I take to go out of my way to make sure people don't follow me. Any of that? Well, oh my god. I knew it. Judas. John, what are you? I expected better from you, Rissa. What the hell was that? Honestly, I have no idea.

“Oh, maybe it's just better if we move on and tell some stories, but tends to snap John”

out of things. Do you all think that part of the problem involves John having to interact with people instead of just standing alone in a closet telling stories to people who'll

never meet or have to interact with in real life?

Oh, yeah, I can see you. Just checking. So what's your story, Rissa? It's about the Darkwood's demon. Jacob Curst as he pushed through the thick underbrush, trying to make his way to the tree stand he had built earlier in the summer.

He was certain that this location would give him an optimal line of sight to the neighboring

“field in which he frequently saw large herds of deer.”

This was going to be his year and he was so sure of it. This is the year that I bring home my trophy buck. He thought, as he recalled the events of the day so far. He had awakened at 4.30 a.m. He began to prepare for a long day in the woods on the backside of his farm.

His first order of business had been to locate and rescue his gloves and camouflage hunting

gear from whatever undisclosed area of his home that his wife had hidden them. He would most assuredly need them this morning to protect him from the bitter cold November morning. How could it be this cold this early in the year? He wondered, as he started to work on his second task of the day, which was to prepare

a breakfast that would stick to his ribs long into the day. He wasn't entirely sure what he wanted this morning, but he finally settled on toast, country ham, and scrambled eggs that were just a little too runny. He topped it all off with a large cup of coffee that had left a bitter after taste on his tongue. In fact, he could still taste it.

After accomplishing tasks one and two, he packed himself a baloney and she sandwiched for lunch, grabbed his Remington 30 out six hunting rifle, a thermosacoffie, and headed out the door. He loaded his gear into his truck and pulled out of the driveway, and turned right onto the one-lane black top row that led to the backside of his property. After about two and a quarter miles, he turned right again, off the black top, and onto

He had traveled about half a mile down that pitiful, rutt filled excuse for a road, when

he came to his desired location. He got out of his truck and loaded his gun, and sontered off into the woods. Jacob had gone little more than 500 yards into the densely-wooded tree line when he began to wish that he had put on an extra layer of clothing to shield him against the chilly morning air.

Ten minutes out of the truck, and he was already cold, and it was made worse by the cloudy overcast day, and the wind that was blowing steadily through the trees, making the autumn leaves rattle like dry bones. Oh well, he thought, "It's going to be a good day anyway, especially if I bring home a big one."

Jacob took about ten more steps, when an uneasy feeling began to creep over him.

He felt as though someone had stepped over his grave.

“He got the distinct feeling that he was being watched, but by whom?”

Because this was his property, and it was posted, that no one had permission to be on his land. He had to be alone, but if he was alone, why couldn't he shake this eerie feeling that was scratching at the base of his skull? Something was off today.

There was a deafening silence there in the forest. No bird, or insects. Only the sound of the wind in the trees. Convincing himself that it was nothing more than a case of the nerves, he continued to press on until he came to a clearing, not far from his tree stand.

Stepping into the clearing, Jacob saw the remains of what appeared to be a large deer. And he wasn't quite able to make out what he was seeing from this distance, because the

“sun wasn't completely up yet, and the forest was still unveloped in shadows.”

Jacob walked closer to get a better look, and found that he had been correct. It was a deer, a large eight-point buck, in fact. Looking at the remains, he felt a sense of dread come over him, and icy fingers danced along his spine. Something about this kill just didn't seem right.

The throat was completely torn out, and the stomach was ripped open, plus several of the internal organs were missing. It was the most grizzly thing he had ever seen. This definitely wasn't a coyote kill, and no hunter would have done this. They would have taken the head to have it mounted.

What could have done this? He wondered.

“And then a fear like nothing yet ever experienced before began to wash over him in waves.”

What is going on, he thought. That nearly 225 pounds and well over 6 foot. He wasn't one to give into something like fear, but now he couldn't seem to calm down, and his heart was beating like a trip hammer. The feeling that he was being watched was getting stronger by the minute, and he couldn't

shake the feeling that he was moments away from a bad situation. He slowly started to back away from the mangled carcass, and head back to his truck, and back to safety. But no more than six steps into his journey. His blood turned to ice in his veins, as a deep, guttural, wailing scream shattered the

eerie silence, along with what was left of his courage. He had grown up on the farm all his life, and had been an experienced hunter since childhood. He was pretty familiar with it every animal in this part of the state. Not even a cougar, bobcat or bear could have produced the scream that had torn through the early morning forest, and filled him with such a bone-chilling apprehension.

Primal fear now gave way to stark terror, as he chambered around in his 386, and turned around only to find there was nothing behind him.

His mind raced with confusion, and he was confronted with a million thoughts at once.

What should I do? What could it be? Should I run? Am I going to die? His survival sense was kicking into overdrive, so Jacob decided to continue on his previously

contract plan which was, go to the truck, and get out of there while the getting was good. Slowly and cautiously, he made his way toward the perceived salvation of his vehicle, silently

With 300 yards separating him from his only avenue of escape, Jacob began to hear heavy

footfalls off to his left.

“He could hear the crunching of weathered leaves, all the sticks and debris that littered the forest”

floor. Summoning every ounce of courage that remained within him, he forced himself to look in that direction, and that, is when he saw the dark silhouette that followed him through, the densely tangled forest. Quickening his pace, he redoubled his efforts to reach the truck, and get to a phone

and call the sheriff, the game warden, or anyone that would listen. He couldn't tell what it was that was stalking him, but he could clearly see that it towered more than 7 feet. And was incredibly massive. Jacob couldn't help but think that he was about to become a national statistic, a person

“who left home under normal circumstances and just disappeared without a trace.”

How many people he wondered, how many people go into the woods and just vanish. And the authorities just assume that they've become lost or injured or have been the victims

of an animal attack with their body never recovered.

Please God, don't let that happen to me, he thought, as he drew closer and closer to his truck. 75 yards became 50, and 50 became 30, and then 30 yards became 10. Like a miracle, he was back in omitting his door. Throwing his rifle inside, he pulled himself up into the can, and started the engine

and hit the gas, but the truck went nowhere. He had parked in a large mud puddle, and now the tires simply spun, slinging mud 30 feet behind him.

“Oh no, not now, he thought, "I can't be stuck, not now."”

Allowing himself a moment to think, Jacob remembered that this truck has four wheel drive. There's no way I can be stuck. Reaching down, he locked his truck in four wheel drive, and was prepared to punch the gas and leave this nightmare behind. Unfortunately for Jacob, some nightmares are not so easily left behind, and there

is nothing worse than a nightmare you can't wake up from. When Jacob was about to learn that the hard way. Hearing something to his fright, he instinctively turned, and immediately wished that he had not.

It took him maybe half a second to turn his head, but he would have given anything in the

world to have that half second back, because it was the last moment that his world would ever seem normal again. In that split second, his world changed. It was no longer a place where the world was light and safe, where he was just a husband and a father and a guy that liked to hunt and watched football on the weekends.

That reality had evaporated away like early morning fog, and all that was left was a world where monsters existed, where things really went bump in the night, and now an ambassador from that nightmare realm was standing just outside his passenger door. A visible reminder that his world had been turned upside down. Jacob screamed as he stared transfixed on this escapee from a horror movie, and his most

terrifying, fevered dream, he couldn't have imagined that such a thing could exist. It was hideously ugly, easily standing at the tall with a thick, muscular body. It looked very apish and appearance, but then again, it didn't. There was just something about that face that was just wrong, almost like an obscene amalgamation of a man and animal that had gone horribly awry.

It was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen, and it was completely covered with thick, shaggy black hair that was matted in areas with god only knows what, and it walked on two legs. Not four, like you would expect from, some kind of animal.

Was it a demon, was it a werewolf, a can't be, he thought.

“Those things don't exist, maybe it was some kind of reject from the island of Dr. Moro.”

Whatever it was, it was staring at him, and it did not look happy. The menacing juggernaut through its enormous head back and let out a blood-curdling screen that resonate throughout the surrounding area, and it seemed to vibrate him to his very core. Locked back into action, Jacob threw his truck into gear and took office though he were being chased by the very hands of hell.

Jacob, mind racing, wondered what he was going to do. How will I ever feel safe on this farm again, he thought, "Harm my wife and children in danger?"

Where did this thing come from?

And will anyone believe me? The whirlwind of thoughts that swirled through Jacob's mind came to an immediate stop as he

“slammed on his brakes and nearly slid off the road.”

In a state of disbelief, Jacob sat staring at the large hackberry tree that later crossed the dirt road and blocked his path, preventing him from reaching the black top, preventing him from reaching guaranteed safety. How is this even possible, he thought? I just came down this road not even 30 minutes ago, and this path was clear.

However this tree came to be across the road.

It was painfully obvious to Jacob that he had to get that tree moved, if he was going to

make it home. Since he didn't have a chain to pull the tree out of the road, and he didn't have a saw with which he could cut up this unexpected barricade with, he was left with few viable options. One was walking, which he discounted almost immediately. The most logical course of action that he could come up with was to call for help.

His best friend Kenny Patterson owned the farm just over from his. If he were home he could bring a saw and cut up the tree for him. So Jacob with his nerves still frazzled and frayed, reached into his glove box and pulled out a cell phone and clumsily dialed Kenny's number. The phone rang six times, and Jacob was about to give up when Kenny answered the phone

and said, "Hey, Ugly, what do you want this early in the morning?" As quickly as he could, he relayed the recent events to Kenny and said, "Man, please hurry. I'm not kidding. There is something out here."

And Kenny hearing the shakiness in his friend's voice, assured him that he would be there in a matter of minutes. Jacob thanked him, hung up the phone, embraced himself for what he was sure would be the longest few minutes of his life. He sat motionless with baited breath there in his truck.

Every sound made his imagination run wild with fear and expectance. Even though little more than three minutes had passed since he had spoken to Kenny, it felt as if hours had passed. Which tick of the clock seemed to be an eternity. Jacob frequently checked in all directions for any sign that that nightmarish monstrosity

had pursued him. In every shadow that the forest and this irritatingly cloudy day produced, he thought he saw the shape of the black beast that had followed him out of the woods, and he was afraid that he would lose his sanity long before Kenny arrived to clear the triad of his pathway. After what seemed like a lifetime, Jacob heard the sound of Kenny's old trucks sputtering

up the road, and in just moments, he was able to see the old red Chevrolet as it made its way closer to him. Jacob's spirits lifted when he saw his old friend, and a sense of relief washed over him as he realized that he was no longer alone. Being out of his truck, Jacob said, "Man, what took you so long? I asked you to hurry."

And Kenny, with an indignant look on his face, said, "What are you talking about? You

“only called me 11 minutes ago. I think I made pretty good time."”

Jacob could hardly believe that only 11 minutes had passed. It had seemed so much longer. After apologizing to his friend, and telling him exactly how happy he was to see him, both men walked over to the fallen tree and made a discovery that startled them both. The tree had not broken. It had not been cut. It had been pushed over and completely uprooted. All around the tree were large, bipedal footprints that had a somewhat human

Jacob and Kenny looked at each other, and then, without a word, went to work on the tree.

Kenny took a husk-barna chainsaw from the bed of his truck and began to cut up the fallen blockade. Meanwhile, Jacob pulled the logs into breathe from the road. Mission accomplished. Kenny put away his saw, and then he and Jacob were about to get in their vehicles to leave, but before either of the men had even opened their doors. An ear-splitting scream that would have filled a band she with paralyzing fear, erupted from the woods behind

them. Whereily, Jacob walked over to Kenny and whispered.

“"That's what I was telling you about. I don't know what that thing is, man, but it looks”

like some kind of monster, and I think we need to get out of here. Now, Kenny, who looked as though the blood had dreamed completely out of his space, became very pale."

And he said to Jacob, "Jacob, man. I've never mentioned this to anyone before now, but

over the last few months that thing has been killing off a few of my cows. Their throats are usually torn out, and the bodies are mangled and broken. I didn't want anyone to accuse me of being crazy and making stuff up, so I never said anything about it. But that's the reason I rushed over when you called. I've heard that sound a few times go off in the distance at night, but never this close. So I think you are right old buddy."

“"Pips time to go. Consciously, and with a sense of urgency. Jacob and Kenny climbed into”

their vehicles, and expeditiously made their way back to the blacktop."

Turning left, both vehicles began the two and a half mile trek that led back to Jacob's

house, so they could decide what course of action should be taken. Jacob could feel the temperature drop as snow began to gently fall. He reached over, and turned his wiper on as snow began to melt the windshield harder. As he passed his neighbor, William Springer's farm, he noticed a herd of deer grazing in the field that boarded his own property.

Having put a bit of distance between himself and the nightmare he had just encountered, Jacob felt a renewed sense of security as his fatigue nerves began to call. Not willing to let this opportunity pass him by, Jacob turned on his hazard lights, and pulled to the shoulder of the road and signaled Kenny to do the same. Kenny instinctively knew what Jacob was thinking as he pulled in behind him, and he turned off his ignition.

Getting out of his truck, Kenny said, "What are you doing, man? We need to get out of here." Now, Jacob said, "I know, I know, and we will in just a minute, man. I just can't turn this down. I have to take the shot." That is a six point buck standing there. It's not the trophy that I wanted, but, at least I won't go home empty handed. And after the

“morning we've had, I think we deserve a little something good.”

All right, just take the shot so we can go. I still don't feel right about this, Kenny said. Seeing his rifle across the hood of his truck, Jacob zeroed in on the buck and prepared to fire. That's when he heard Kenny make a gasping noise and whisper, "Oh my God. What is it, man? What's wrong with you? Raise your scope. Three inches," he said. Raising the scope, Jacob immediately saw what had been the cause of Kenny's alarm.

Standing just outside the tree line had the edge of the field. Was the creature that they had left behind? Not even five minutes before then. Was this thing following them? Was it after the deer? What was it doing? Jacob watched the creature through his scope for a full 30 seconds before it ever moved and when it did, it ignored him and the deer and started to loathe off toward William's barn. The barn that was just about 500 yards from

where the woodland demon had been standing. Jacob called out to Kenny and said, "Kennie call William and tell him there is something trying to get in his barn. I know he has at least two mayors with holes in there and if that thing gets in, it'll kill all of them." In an attempt to be rid of this monster, where Wolf Sasquatch, for whatever it was,

them through red, hate-filled eyes and then began to run toward them at full steam. Kenny,

“who was still on the phone with William, screamed at Jacob to get in his truck and go.”

Jacob did as he was told and Kenny followed suit. Starting their trucks, Jacob and Kenny both race to Jacob's house as though they were driving on the NASCAR circuit. Arriving at home, Jacob with his gun in hand, ran inside to get a phone book so that they could call the game warden and the police and maybe get some kind of animal control out there to get rid of this thing. Jacob had just stepped out in his front porch when they heard gunfire coming from

over at William's place. Dropping the phone book and running back inside,

Jacob grabbed his 12-gauge shotgun and some shells and handed them to Kenny, who took little time in loading it. Jacob and Kenny, now locked and loaded, walked together

“to Kenny's truck, preparing to mount up a rescue for their neighbor William.”

Simultaneously, both of them stopped in their tracks as an uneasy but familiar feeling crept over them. Jacob's wrought whileer and his two German shepherds began to whimper and they ran under the front porch to hide. Kenny, whose throat had suddenly gone dry as bone, whispered to Jacob and said,

"I have a really bad feeling about this." No sooner had the words escaped his lips.

They heard a deafening scream erupt from the forest off to their right. And then the creature exploded from the trees, right in front of them. Until now, neither man had been able to fully appreciate the colossal size and scope of the beast. But standing less than 30 feet away, they were almost overcome by the sheer magnitude of it.

“Jacob had seen it up close earlier from his truck while sitting down and had guessed the height at”

maybe eight feet, but now standing there looking up. He could tell that this fella was eight and a half, nine feet tall, and would tip the scale at 800 to about a thousand pounds. It had inhumanly long arms that bulged with thick ropey muscle, ones that were easily seen beneath its long, shaggy black hair, which it was covered with, from head to toe. The chest was larger than a 55 gallon drum,

and there was little doubt that it could have pulled the arms off of an ape. And it now glared at the both of them, with malevolent intent. Jacob and Kenny both opened fire without hesitation. The creature screamed with rage as the bullets torrent to its massive body, knocking it to the ground, but not killing or seriously injuring it. Jacob and Kenny watched speechless as it crawled into the tree line,

struggled to its feet, and limped away. Jacob ran back to the porch, grabbed a phone book, and called the local game warden. Nearly two hours later, Jean Traber, the local warden, showed up to take their statements, and told him that he had been called out to answer numerous such reports in the area. But he wasn't sure what to make of all of these reports. "Guys," he said. "I don't know what to tell you. There is no animal in this area or any

area for that matter that fits your description. I'm not saying I don't believe you. I just don't know what it is. Jacob, whose face was reddened with anger," said. "Come here. Here's the blood from where we shot it, and here are the footprints. A look of complete confusion washed over Jean's face, and he asked if they would care to go with him as he tried to track it. Jacob and Kenny agreed, but they said they weren't going

without a gun. Jean stated that he planned to take his gun as well. All three men loaded their guns and set out following the deeply impressed tracks and droplets of blood that had fallen onto the withered leaves. They followed this trail for about a mile, until arriving at a creek that was located deep in Jacob's woods. And that's where the tracks they were following

Deciding that the safest course of action would be to return home, they all went back to Jacob's.

“None of them relished the idea of staying out in the woods longer, since there was now”

apparently more than one creature. And the cloudy overcast day made the forest seem even darker than it would normally be this time of day. Back at Jacob's, Jean informed them that there was nothing left that he could do, but filed it under an unknown animal sighting, which made both Kenny and Jacob anything but happy. Jacob and Kenny spent the next couple of days trying to warn their neighbors, urging them to use

caution when they were out in the forest. Most of their friends just laughed at them and said

they had probably seen a bear or something. No one believed them, except William, who had seen it himself the same day that they had. He had even taken a shot at it, but missed. Jacob, William, and Kenny knew what they had seen, and they knew it was still out there. And they didn't care who believed them, or who didn't. Over the next few weeks, more and more neighbors began to take the story a little more seriously. As family pets began to disappear,

and others were found brutally mangled. Other farms in the area began to find their cows and

other livestock torn open with their throats ripped out. Just a week after shooting the

creature in his yard, Jacob's own wrought wilder was found dead with its throat torn out. It almost seemed like a revenge killing. A few days later, one of William's new foals died the same way. The foals mother had to be put to sleep, because she had gone into shock over whatever she had witnessed there in the barn, when her full was killed. Some people in the area still don't believe. They think the whole story was made up. But Jacob and Kenny know that there is still

something out there in the forest. They still occasionally find tracks, or a slaughtered cow or goat. They still hear the blood curdling screams off in the woods at night. They know that there is still something out there watching and waiting. Something biting its time. Something cold and cunning and cruel. Something not human with a taste for blood and revenge. This episode is brought to you by Obsession. Focus features in Blum House invite you to the most

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theaters may 15th, with special engagements in Dolby, rotten tomato rating as of March 30th, 2026. Anyone else feeling more on edge than usual? Yeah, sort of. Why is that? Probably because nothing has happened yet, and we're all just waiting for the really weird stuff to

“happen so we can relax. What if nothing weird actually happens?”

It's John we're talking about. Something weird is gonna happen. What if it doesn't? What do you mean? What if nothing weird happens, and we're just all working ourselves up for nothing, instead of just relaxing and enjoying our time here? It would be just like John to pull something that evil wouldn't it? It feels like we're going down a slippery slope. Remember we just keep telling stories. Who's up? I am. My story is called "Don't Disturb."

Have you ever realized if you don't disturb their living place, they won't disturb yours?

something else too. It had been a normal Saturday until my neighbor asked me to join her for

camping. She sat she wanted to go hiking but was scared to go alone. Since she knew about the pebble chain I'm wearing now, the one I had found earlier, she asked me to tag along. Even though I knew all the back stories about the forest, my eagerness didn't want to miss the fun.

“I'd always had my eyes on that forest. I still remember the day I almost went inside.”

I went cycling around the area. Out of curiosity, I peddled in a little. It felt so peaceful. I even captured a few pictures of the sky and trees, but I turned away without entering. While crouching to take a picture, I noticed a beautiful pebble. I thought I could wear it as a chain. Then I peddled further, but the area started getting darker. Like heavy rain was about to

pour, so I turned back without risking it. I had always wanted to go inside. No one dared

enter the forest, not even the villagers living nearby. I had heard many beliefs from different people. Some said the forest was hiding something from us. Others said it was all just a myth. The villagers mostly felt safe. Though only rarely would someone mention that it could be dangerous.

“Because there was no proof, most people didn't believe any of it. And honestly,”

neither did I. I had been there before and nothing had happened. It had felt peaceful. Maybe it was just our mindset, whether we choose to believe or not. I didn't want to miss this

chance, so I decided to go with her. We stepped into the forest and while looking for the right

place to set up our tent, we noticed strange signs on the trees as we moved forward. That's when we met a group of strangers, just like us, who had come for hiking. We decided to team up with them. With their help, we successfully set up the campfire before dark. While resting, we even planned to watch the sunset from the bridge inside the forest. We laughed, sharing stories. They were attracted to my beautiful pebble chain, so I removed it

“from my neck and handed it over for them to see. While talking, they accidentally lost the thread.”

I didn't make a big deal out of it and kept the pebble safely in my backpack. Then suddenly we heard whimpering sounds far off. It grabbed my attention while the others didn't seem to notice. I leaned against a tree to see who it was and saw a little puppy wagging its tail, crying for help. I followed it, but unfortunately, I soon lost my way. I called their names, but there was no sign of them. Thinking I should leave a trace behind, I tied my shoelace to a

pole and moved forward, hoping to find my way. Suddenly, I heavy wind blew, making me shiver. My hands froze, my hair stood on end, and goose bumps ran all over me. My gut screamed at that something fell off, but I convinced myself it was just the wind. That was normal in a forest like this. To stop my anxiety, I stood still and tried to feel the wind, hoping it would calm me. It was the worst idea I ever had. I realized the wind was only touching me. Not the trace,

not even a single leaf was moving. That's when I understood it wasn't wind at all. It was someone breathing near me. Instead of searching, I ran as fast as I could. Out of breath, I fell into the mud and lost my flashlight. I couldn't control my tears, but I still searched for it, hoping it hadn't rolled too far away. Suddenly, a whistling sound echoed in my ears, and I couldn't stand it. I forced myself to stand

up, staying in one place without knowing who was approaching felt even scarier, so I decided to move. But it only got worse, with every step forward, the sound grew creepier. Sometimes it felt like it was right behind me. I turned slowly and heard tree branches snapping. I ran, crouched down into the bushes, and opened my backpack, desperately grabbing my spare flashlight, and fumbling to turn it on.

I didn't know why, but the pressure and my unsteady breathing made me cry. No one was by my side, and that scared me even more. But staying here wouldn't help, so I decided to find the tent.

but the sense of danger stopped me. No matter what, I couldn't grab anyone's attention. As I walked past the same tree again, I saw the strange signs more clearly. Hanging knots swayed from its branches, unfamiliar symbols were carved into the bark. A knife was embedded in the trunk, and a dark red substance had dried around it. I couldn't tell if it was paste, ink, or blood.

One of the markings looked like a skeleton. For research, I even took a picture of the tree.

Finally, I saw a light, our tent. I rushed toward it, but no one was there,

and my whole body shook. I searched everywhere, but there was no sign of anyone. No backpacks, no footprints, nothing. Then I heard footsteps approaching. For safety I hid behind a tree, but even my own tent didn't feel safe anymore. I couldn't see anyone, but I heard voices calling me to come out.

It was my neighbor's voice calling me to come near the tree. Even though I recognized it, my gut told me something was wrong. My mind was flooded with doubts.

“If it was really my neighbor, why didn't they come to the tent?”

Why were they calling me toward that creepy tree when the tent had lights? There was no way out. I had no idea what to do. I just lost hope and leaned against the pole. Every silence, every doubt, was eating me alive.

Finally, I was too tired to stay strong. I regretted every thinking I could come here.

Tears fell faster than rain. I saw up to harder, thinking all I wanted was to make it out alive. But the voices of my neighbor only made it scarier. They kept repeating the same thing again and again. That's when I realized over thinking was a waste of time. Staying here would only lead me into danger, so I decided to head toward the villagers' houses.

From there my lonely journey began not with hope, but filled with fear. Even as my eyes searched for a way out, my legs were shaking. Every step I took sent my mind racing with thoughts.

I never imagined that the people I trusted would leave me here alone.

“I still couldn't understand what had happened to them. Why had they abandoned me?”

Suddenly I felt something heavy under my foot. With no idea what it was, but filled with intense fear, I shined my flashlight on the ground. I couldn't believe what I saw. It was the person who had joined us along the way, the one who had helped us set up the tent, lying there, lifeless. I only remember closing my eyes at that moment. The next morning, I woke up in a cottage of a forest

ranger who had found me in the woods. I was surrounded by village people. I tried to explain everything, what had happened with my neighbors, how we had teamed up as four people, and the lifeless person I had seen. I told them that was why I fainted. But instead of panicking, I got mixed reactions from them. Some said I should not have gone there. It's a dangerous forest.

Others said that when they rescued me, I was completely alone. There was no lifeless body. No one else in the forest. So they assumed I was just overreacting, because I had been alone in the dark and scared. Which is something anyone in my situation would have felt and is completely normal. I really lost it at that point, because some believed me and some didn't.

I still couldn't digest what had happened. I rushed to check on my neighbor. When I asked, she said she had come back home. She said she had been out of town the whole time. Maybe they could lie. But the camera wouldn't. I decided to check the picture I had taken for research. But all the strange signs on the tree were gone. It looked like a normal tree in the photo.

“If it wasn't my neighbor, who lured me there then? Who wasn't?”

And I remembered the pebble I had kept. I reached into my backpack and it was missing too. With disbelief, I glanced out the window and saw some writing. Don't disturb. That's when I realized, if you don't disturb their living place, they won't disturb yours. The real problem wasn't my entry. It was that I took something that didn't belong to me.

So, what's going on? Everyone talking about me?

No. Were you before Heather's story? No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Uh-huh.

“Do you guys ever get messages or emails from listeners wanting to hang out or ask what you do in your free time?”

Or the assumption that you're just really fun to be around? No, no, no, no, no. Makes sense. You only need to get some hobbies. Where to fully stocked camp. And still, you all spend any amount of time worrying about me. It's kind of thoughtful and a slightly concerning way.

Once again, I'm fine. It's just a similar John. Did night hear you wake up screaming this morning?

Well, that was unrelated. I had chips and salsa and beer and cotton candy before going to bed.

It's just a nightmare. A really terrible nightmare about Merkin mock. The boat's gasoline lights up the rest of its mingle body. Gagging as I float free of the wreckage in noxious smoke. I'm the only one to make the journey.

If I'm not the only one to still alive, my surviving friends are under this water, and it's impossible to see them. Help! I scream.

“The lake isn't so big that my boys can't reach the shore.”

But the lake's so full of runoff that no one wants to come that close. Please! I scream anyway. In our go, a boat ride and I sounded like a great idea. Ten of us and some beers. The lake could provide hours of fun and who cared if we'd dump

their empties and trash as we went too fast. The sludge can't hide anything. The smell would keep away anyone to stop the fun. Then we hit something. Now, I wish I figure back in time. I'm alone and too drunk for a swim.

The lake is so much bigger without a boat. The sludge is black under the little light of the moon that confitted its way through the interference of the city. The smell is clung, it's way up my nose. I'm here!

I say to anyone who can hear, or maybe just the universe. Come on! There's a whole burning! Jesus! Something brushes my leg. Before I can flinch away, it's gone.

There's too much of a mark to see my hands under the surface, much less of my leg. What the hell? They breathe. What the?

My volume is rising out of control and I have to shake myself to stop it. And then shock. I'm breathing in God and I was what from the fire and fumes. My grandfather fished in the slag when he was a boy.

I could see the bottom. I never caught anything bigger than his hand.

That was before years of him faking documents, so factories could turn the water into a bio-hazard. Instinct doesn't care about logic. My limbs still tingling suspense for another touch. I need to get out.

I push from a float to a swim. The water flows thick like saliva and gurgles hungry in my ears. I crane my neck and tell it hurts so my mouth stays free. But drop let's land in my lips and fight to get in. I puffed my breath to fight back.

But it's a battle of a triton. Who drops tremble with anticipation at the edge of my mouth. There's a splash behind me. I spin back to the rack I just floated away from. The surface of the lake is glass that shows nothing but the reflection of the flames.

Hell, hello? I call no one answers. Something called free to the boat.

“Is someone else still alive? Is something else alive in the abyss?”

Drop let's take advantage of my spiral to push into my mouth and coat my tongue in the taste of salt and iron. I spit and gag. But the muck clings to my teeth. Out! It's screech at the muck and myself. Wiping my mouth can only bring more of the taste for my soaked hands.

So I turn and swim. No angle I hold my head at I can save my mouth. The water coats my cheeks like the lake is reaching to pull me down.

My worries about my mouth almost distracts me from my limbs.

“My fingers brush past something solid and jerk away.”

The water slashes but below the surface is impenetrable black. I spin because there must be one break in the murk. The lake is ready to prove me wrong. I don't stop. The fire of the boat fills my vision. The flames take up as much of my views before.

As the fire groan or if I not moved, I'm swimming again. I'm scaring myself and taking every straight thought as gospel. I know a motion can overcome sense at the best of times and I'm currently full of beer and trauma. Once I'm on land everything will be clear. All in the wall of the fear is nothing but my imagination.

“I know what's gone into this lake. I saw my friends go down there”

and listen to my grandfather reminisce about his work. And even my father had a hand in what's in the water.

His first job was to help with the disposal of old junkers.

There were proper ways to do that but the lake was closer. I'm likely to run into a sedan and a monster. The slosh of the water at my legs turns shallow. My muscles fight me not to push deeper into the abyss but I force my feet down. The surface below is covered in mock that oozes over my shoes and ignores my socks to cover my skin.

It's a cold mix of flimmy mud and grit like rust. But underneath, it's solid enough to take my weight like something holds me up from below. I force my mind away from what's in the deep as I push more of myself in the water.

I'm not fully free. The lake still has me up to my thighs.

I step forward to change that. The shore is not too close. In Olympic pools worth of lakes still separates me from dry land. What is this? I search for a peninsula island that will give me a place to stand. Nothing but opaque water all around. Is there a shallow in the middle of the lake?

I step again to map my refuge. The surface slips from under my feet and the lake sucks me down. I fight this water conquers my mouth and charges to take my eyes into the darkness. I push my head free just as my eyelashes touch the surface. I'm spitting and coughing as my legs flail for purchase.

The muck is still in my shoes pulling me down but the surface is nowhere to be found. I don't accept that and I spin in my efforts to prove it wrong. Then I'm facing back the way I came. The fire takes up as much of my views before. I spin from the sight. The rippling of the water around me doesn't feel right on my skin. I can't convince myself all the disturbances because me.

I fight the urge to freeze and only my need to keep my head free of the water spurs my legs on. I grasp for explanations that make sense. I could have been on a rock that fell away as I slept. The slip could have pushed me back

“toward the fire. All of it disintegrates as soon as I think of it.”

So many years of trash run off and carelessness are supposed to kill the earth. What if that isn't true? What if, as the water turned darker and thicker, something thrived despite our hostility? What if the lake took all our rock, carcasses, chemicals and fishing trash and rebuilt it into something it could use? What if the water itself decided it had enough?

My fingers get to brief as touch of something. It's oily or scaleier, hot or cold or gelatinous or riggling or all of them are none. I'm screaming. There are no words. Just the sounds of a child in the dark. My attempts at swimming thrash at the water merc showers down, clawing in my eyes, biting in my nostrils and putting my tongue in it, that's grip. My flailing doesn't move me in any particular direction.

I see the fire as big as before. It's sure so far away. The black lake with all those secrets below. Light shines from behind. I can't turn. If I do, I know I'll see it.

mystery, but I can't get myself to move. A voice cuts through my tear. I can see someone.

There's a survivor. Now I can move. The car has pulled up to the shore. The headlights shine in my eyes, even only two human-shaped shadows to break the light. They're awake. The voice calls. Don't move. We'll come and get you. One of the shadows moves closer closer to me and the black water. I throw out my hand. No! Don't come in the water. I'm swimming towards the shadows. I don't know if I'm swimming to save them or myself,

but the light and shadows are growing in my vision.

Something tangles around my foot. It's in tendrils pinch my skin through my shoe. I wrench my leg to get it free, but the tendrils only get tighter. I thrash the tendrils tangle further up my leg. I paddle the pull away, but the tendrils don't let me move. More and more, my head is dragged under the water. Help! They cry. It's got I'm fully submerged. My mouth is filled and my eyes sting. I can't see anything.

I'm at the mercy of whatever is in the mark and mock.

“What is everyone staring at me? I think we're just waiting for you to say you're going to bed.”

Then walk off all mysteriously. Oh! Okay. So y'all don't want me to hang around at all. I thought we might stay up in chat, but- Oh, come on. No, no, no, no, no, no, it's fine. I get it. It's like middle school and high school and college and family reunions and horror conventions. I get it. I'm just messing with you. I know y'all like me. I pay you. I'll go get some beers and we can talk about anything you want as long as it doesn't

involve me or anything that I do around this camp when you're not around to see it. Deal? Awesome. Is whatever just happened a good thing or a bad thing? Is what a good thing? Why are we screaming?

“How did you circle around us so quickly? That's why you screamed. I thought y'all just”

didn't like bourbon or something. I thought you were going to get beers. beers? No, and I'm not really a beer guy. Here. Take a poll and pass it around. Let's not waste one of our last nights. You're asking a bunch of questions. We aren't going to get answers to anyway. At least not any answers that you're going to want to hear. For more information on this podcast, including how to submit your own story for consideration,

please visit CreepyPod.com. You can also follow us at CreepyPod on social media and YouTube. All stories told on this podcast are done so through creative comments, share a light licensing or with written consent from the authors. No portion of this podcast may be re-broadcast or otherwise distributed without the express written consent of the CreepyPod cast production team and the stories author.

Imagine a city unlike any other, simmering 300 years in a rock and scum boat to

“battery versus devotion. Catholicism, confession is anonymous versus voodoo. I think I've then”

made a deal with the devil. What's you call life? And what I call death? It's a mysterious crossroads where the denizens of this world and others. It's a trickster and I'm sure whatever he brought back on the world of the dead was a one-way trip. July daily. And for the detective Frank do probably. We'll see you in there. And Nicky good luck. This will be a dark ride. Welcome to New Orleans Babies. Listen to something wicked or Spotify. Apple podcast or wherever you enjoy listening.